


Believer

by doctortrekkie



Series: Break Me Down and Build Me Up [21]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Corrin having actual character development, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Getting Together, Hoshido fam is officially here, I'm sorry Niles, Infertility, Married Couple, Mikoto and Arete aren't siblings, Niles didn't have a tag yet?, Prince Inigo, Robin!Ophelia, Salty Tomato Prince, Single Parenting, Slow Burn, So many tags, Takumi and Sakura are Mikoto's kids, Various degrees of romance, What Fates Could Have Been, Worldbuilding, basically every Fates character shows up at some point, featuring:, focus on the Awakening Trio and the Nohr royals tho, grave oversight, he deserves it, if I tag every trope present the tags will be longer than the first chapter, more Regularly Scheduled Royal Cousins Roasting Hour, tags will be updated as we go, throwing canon to the wind, with eventual Hoshido royals, with several Awakening cameos, yeah I’m not kidding about that, yes Leo's horse has his own character tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 207,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctortrekkie/pseuds/doctortrekkie
Summary: No one is quite sure where Inigo, Owain, and Severa went, three years after Grima’s demise—just that they left questions and broken hearts in their wake, and a strange new threat that’s beginning to spread across the continent from their last known location.In truth, the Ylissean trio has found themselves a literal world away from home in the land of Nohr. Without even their true names to guide them, they’ve been thrust into the service of a crown prince of questionable loyalties, a smothering yet foreboding princess, and a dark knight-to-be harboring even darker secrets. Firmly entangled into the royal family’s issues, they’re beginning to learn war can mean far more than the clap of magic and the glint of steel. No one is safe, not when everyone has an angle to play against someone else and secrets betrayed can do more damage than any blade.In the end, it may be more than the fate of Nohr and Hoshido resting on one young woman’s shoulders. And for those left behind, perhaps sitting back and believing the lost will return won’t be enough.(Begins three years after the end ofWhatever It Takesand two weeks afterUnbecoming;begins April 1019 LS and April 635 ND)
Relationships: Aqua | Azura/Takumi, Azur | Inigo/Say'ri, Eudes | Owain/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Leon | Leo/My Unit | Kamui | Corrin, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Break Me Down and Build Me Up [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1049543
Comments: 310
Kudos: 156





	1. Watershed (Prologue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7iRsDUUAC8&list=PLD1aPrpW6AsAaFMF12zjS87LDFlxtuUwl&index=2&t=0s)   
>  [Tracklist](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1s84LHIYgY-BtG9YGXT9-dz1PjJ0zvYJ2aXa9hRpiNKQ/edit?usp=sharing)

_I will unsettle the ground beneath you, send my waters ashore, creep into your bed, find you in every corner, I’ve done this many times before you, ashen sky, lightning storms, deltas to desert plains, wartime on every border…_

**Castle Gyges, V____—Date Unknown**

He walks through halls that had once been home to thousands, past walls that had heard love and laughter and sorrow and wailing, and he laments.

His footsteps echo too loudly off of stones that have not heard them in years. He hasn’t dared tread this place in what feels like eons. This was the dragon’s domain, and he dared not risk the dragon’s wrath.

But he has watched the world above stir again, as it had so many times before. Thrice now had Nohr and Hoshido collided with all their might, throwing the world into chaos with all slaughter in its wake, and he knows the signs by now. The last was decades past, now, but still it is the same. War comes, whispering its promises of victory and triumph, and yet it leaves nothing but death and heartache in its wake.

He has seen this so many times now, and still it does not change. The fourth time comes, of that he is sure. Hoshido and Nohr will clash, and they will bring the rest of their world into it; the dragon knows, too, as well as he does, and the dragon will take advantage as surely as the sun rises.

So he has risked the castle. He has his hood pulled up, as if that would disguise him, as if he weren’t too near to being human for the dragon to know him instantly should he be spotted. The illusion of safety helps, though, as he pads further and further down into the belly of the castle, each staircase bringing him nearer to that which he seeks.

Finally, though, after one last heavy door, the castle opens up before him into a courtyard. Mist shrouds the air before him, obscuring his view, but he continues on, knowing the path by heart despite the years that have passed since last he took it. He strides onward, onward, the stones sloping beneath his feet until he finally reaches a pool so clear his reflection stares perfectly back at him, floating islands hanging over his head.

And he begins to speak—words of old, words of power, words that make his blood hum and his human heart race.

He knows the words he speaks, for all the language has been long dead. He pleads, and the water beneath him swirls, his reflection distorting until his chant comes to an end.

 _“Show me!”_ he finally demands in harsh, broken Vallite. The water crests, breaks, and settles, no longer clear but pitch black.

For a moment, he fears he has gotten it wrong. But then the words come—the soft, broken murmurs which rise through the air, quickly blurring into the unmistakable cacophony of battle, and as the silken black image suddenly comes alight with fire he knows what he is seeing.

This is what he seeks. This is _who_ he seeks.

Humans tangle across the marbled floors with strange, dark creatures. Perhaps this place had once been a palace— _Ylisstol_ comes to his mind, the word unfamiliar but fitting—but now it is a battleground. He has not time to see which way the fight is turning when the image in the lake zooms forward, looking onto a hooded woman being pinned against the wall by one the strange, red-eyed creatures.

Before the woman can so much as scream, however, a glinting sword punches through the chest of the Risen. (How he knows they are called Risen, he cannot say.) A young woman, perhaps still a teenager, stands on the other end of it, her dark hair matted with grime.

 _“I believe the woman you want,”_ she all but spits, yanking her sword free as the Risen begins to disintegrate into dust, _“is me!”_

Lucina straightens, her shoulders heaving with the effort but her voice carefully even as she casts it back over her shoulder.

 _“We can’t let these things win,”_ she tells the woman at her back, then spins back with Falchion slicing through the air. _“Now grab a sword… and fight!”_

She darts back into the battle without waiting for an answer, and he knows, he _knows_ this must be the one who can call his world back from the brink of disaster. How he will find her, he cannot know, but he will and he must.

 _“Lucina!”_ comes another voice, and he nearly jumps at the sound. Surely he had seen what he needed to, yet the vision continued on with the rising sounds of panic. _“LUCINA!”_

She pulls up short, pivots on her heel, and turns back the way she came. _“Inigo!”_

The smoke grows thicker, but finally it parts for a face—grimy and thin, yet still with an edge of youthful softness at odds with the destruction around them. The boy couldn’t be more than fifteen—what place did he have in this broken land?

“Inigo,” she says again, urgently, but doesn’t have time to continue before he sucks in a breath of smoke-filled air and chokes.

“It’s Owain,” he manages when he can speak again. “He—and I can’t find Brady—” He breaks off with a hissed curse, his own sword swinging down on a crawling, half-dissolved Risen making a grab for his feet.

“Show me,” Lucina says, both of them breaking into a jog as Inigo nods and starts back down the dim hallway. “And Mother would’ve washed your mouth for that.”

Despite the dark, Inigo gives her a crooked grin. “No, she wouldn’t. Aunt Maribelle would’ve, though.”

Lucina only answers with a sound that was half-snort, half-laugh, then seemingly decides to save her breath.

The scene shifts, only slightly, and to the one observing it is obvious there’s only been the smallest of gaps in time and space. Only a few minutes, perhaps. He receives not but a single image this time, of the two from earlier joined by a third—a girl with tangled red twintails and a scowl on her face. They are bent over a fourth, a blond boy, bleeding from his leg but still chattering with words that cannot be heard.

 _Four,_ he thinks. Were there four? Could he bring all four? There is something about them that has drawn the attention of his spells, but why these four, merely children, drawn from a world of war and destruction themselves?

He believes the images will fade, then—he has seen who he requires—but instead the lake trembles again and opens to another scene. It is later, but not by much—a few months, perhaps, less than a year. He sees Inigo again, and the blond boy—Owain—beside two others he cannot recognize, their faces oddly blurred in his vision.

A sword and shield are laid at Inigo’s feet by another figure that cannot be seen, and the poor boy’s face goes white. “What’s happened?” he demands, yet gets no answer. “Gerome?”

Finally, he bends and takes the sword, the cloth which covers it falling away to reveal the distinctive hilt of Lucina’s sword.

And he can see, he can _watch_ as Inigo’s world goes tumbling down around him. “No,” he whispers. “Oh, gods, no.”

The one outside it all feels his brow furrow—he had thought, from the moment he’d seen her, that Lucina would be the one he ought to bring. Yet, now, he watches as her brother grips her sword and tries to stand in her place.

They are in a temple, now, only days later, and the figure standing in it has a power indescribable. _“Proof you do bear, young Exalt, but I am afraid it is not proof enough.”_

Inigo queries of her, of their goddess, and to the one watching it becomes more and more obvious what has happened in this world. They have their own dragon, another vengeful god intent on destruction, and he feels a pang of pity for them. Their world, their Ylisse is as destroyed as his Valla, and he can only wonder what hope there is for the boy and his friends.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps this vision is not intended to show him who can help him; perhaps it is a warning to those who would try.

 _“A dragon that never rises has no need to be defeated,”_ the goddess says, while both he and Inigo seem to need a moment to work through their confusion.

“But how could we prevent something that’s already happened?”

_“Simple. By returning to the past and stopping it.”_

And then, to his utter astoundment, _they do._

He watches, his jaw falling open as their dragon descends and those remaining children, defying all belief, flee not another place but to another _time,_ and he watches Inigo come tumbling out of the sky and coming face-to-face with the father who had given his life to defend his people and is now only a handful of years older than his own child.

The images come in flashes, faster and faster as the years pass. Inigo and Owain reunite in a land even colder than Nohr and fight through the first of the wars against a mad king; when it is done, they find two others of their company. A year passes in a flash, then another, and in an instant their mission and their identities are revealed and Inigo, Owain, and Severa are on a boat off to the second war.

Valm brings its trials and tribulations to them—and, of all things, love. They are no longer boys, he realizes. They both begin their second decades. There is a tactician for one, and a princess for the other, and even as the war sinks its teeth into all of them in its death throes they all come out alive.

The princess will be queen, then, and yet Inigo clings to her. The tactician will have a child—Owain’s—and, on the outskirts, Severa lingers and languishes in an affection she knows is not meant for her.

Lucina returns, to his shock, though she is not quite the same as she once was. He thinks to himself, sadly, that perhaps she is not for him to bring. The goddess sent her back as well and he shakes his head. That she had the power to send so many… If only he could have done the same…

And their dragon comes again.

He comes, breaking their moment of triumph, and for a breath it seems their second world will crash and burn just as their first did.

It doesn’t.

But there is a cost.

Their dragon falls and their tactician fades. In one final moment, he hears a long, anguished _cry_ from the father of a now-motherless child and, suddenly, the lake before him is clear once more.

He sits back on his heels and finds that he is weeping. Can he ask them—Inigo, Owain, Severa—to do it all again, after all they’ve been through?

But he needs them. He _needs_ them. He cannot scry the royal families of Hoshido and Nohr—Hoshido out of his own design, a protection for the woman he loves, and Nohr for reasons he cannot ascertain but for the most powerful of sorcerers being at work there—but he knows what will happen.

There will be war, and the dragon knows it, and all of humanity will lose. And if he can scry for a trio from another world, then someday, when Hoshido and Nohr and Valla are nothing but faded memories, the dragon might do the same, and turn his attentions to the land of Ylisse.

And the struggle of both their worlds will have all been for naught.

He cannot allow it.

As he makes his decision, the Vallite soil pitches him forward with a force that nearly sends him into the lake. The water swirls, alive, and as he scrambles back to his feet as shimmering figures of steam and purple flames rise from the surface.

Above, from deep in the castle, the dragon _roars_ and he knows his time is up.

He raises his hand, a blast of magic flying from his fingertips that immobilizes the Vallite warriors. It will only last for a moment, though, so no sooner has he cast does he turn on his heel and sprint back through the castle.

He does not know when he will come back. It has taken him this long to dare to.

But someday he will, and he will call for his heroes from another world.

The dragon roars again, but Anankos does not listen.

_While you argue it over, I am not waiting, while you retreat to your comforts, I am not fading, I’ve done this many times before you, watched the pattern take form, children your time is done, if you say it’s done together…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Are we better than ever? That remains to be seen, but I am _ludicrously_ excited for this story (and for Leo, Inigo, and Owain to all be on the page together).
> 
> -A couple quick notes: This story is the sequel to both _Whatever It Takes _and the _Heart of Stone_ series. If you've read one, but not the other, prepare to be spoiled for just about everything in approximately the first chapter. If you don't mind that, read on!__
> 
> __-I'm planning on having these chapters average in the 4-5k words range, more like the "double-length" WIT chapters than the more typical 2-3k. This is partially because I think the longer chapters flow better and because we're going to be following a lot more characters and plot threads this time around, so it will let us keep up with everything without having seven chapters go by before we check in on a certain storyline._ _
> 
> __-Lastly, unlike WIT, where every part title was taken from a line in the title song, every part title in _Believer_ is going to be its OWN song, barring the first and last parts. Again, partially because Believer is rather lyrically light and partially because there are a LOT of songs I want to have in the spotlight this time around._ _
> 
> __-Chapter 1 is incoming shortly, so buckle up for the ride!_ _


	2. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old friends catch up and a prince makes a trip.

_ First thing’s first, I’mma say all the words inside my head, I’m fired up and tired of the way that things have been, second thing’s second don’t you tell me what you think that I could be, I’m the one at the sail, I’m the master of my sea… _

**Royal Palace, Dai’chi, Chon’sin—April 14, 1019 LS**

“Okay, so let me get this straight. Your mother is a princess of Ylisse; your father is very likely to be the next West Khan of Regna Ferox if Basilio ever gets around to retiring or just straight up kicks the bucket. One of your cousins married the son of the Duke of Rosanne. Your other cousin—the better looking one, I might add—wedded the Queen of Chon’sin. Oh, and  _ you _ were married to last heir apparent of Plegia. So tell me, Owain, what you do with these many connections you have, quite literally all over the world. Oh, that’s right,  _ nothing.” _

“That’s not true. I ask you guys to babysit sometimes.”

Prince Inigo of Chon’sin—formerly Exalt Inigo of Ylisse, in a doomed parallel future now three years averted—let out a sigh that had definitely been exaggerated for effect. “You have problems, my friend.”

“You sound surprised,” Owain retorted. “Such dark knowledge is far from forbidden and I should think it would be common by now.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m plenty aware,” Inigo said dryly, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a deliberate and obnoxiously dignified sip of his tea. “I’ve only spent, you know, my entire life with you. Just sometimes the depths of your weirdness manages to astound even me.”

“Considering that means that even as I draw nearer to a quarter-century of existence I still manage to be as heroically unpredictable as ever, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Before Inigo could come up with a response to that, a hastily-muffled snort came from across the open-air room. With the warmth of spring having settled fully over Chon’sin’s capital city, the southernmost wall panels had been pulled aside to let in the sunshine. While Inigo and Owain sat cross-legged at a low table in the opposite corner, Say’ri—the aforementioned Queen of Chon’sin—was settled on the floor, her back to the sunlight. Judging by the way her lips twitched in a desperate attempt to contain her amusement, Owain had to imagine it was in response to his own wit rather than that of the toddler doodling in her lap.

Not that Ophelia wasn’t terribly witty herself—she’d gotten that from him, no doubt—but his daughter was currently sticking her tongue out the corner of her mouth in concentration, focused entirely on her coloring as she scribbled away. Owain had managed to wrangle her unruly hair into her favorite set of twintails that day, and the sight as a whole made his heart ache.

“She looks more like her mother every day,” Inigo murmured, as if he’d read his cousin’s mind.

“I know,” Owain replied. Three years hadn’t dampened  _ that  _ grief any, not really; how could it when there was still the chance, however minuscule, that Robin might one day return from the sacrifice that had claimed her?

He still searched for her, almost compulsively now. Perhaps the odds grew thinner as the days and years passed since Grima had fallen, but they had never dropped to zero. So still he searched.

In the meantime, he kept her memory alive as best he could. Ophelia had never known Robin, not in any way she remembered—she’d only been four months old during their final battle with the Fell Dragon—but she knew the stories of her mother’s heroism back to front. Well, she knew the slightly-edited, child-friendly stories of her mother’s heroism back to front, at least. When the time came, when she was old enough to understand, she’d learn the tale of how Owain, Inigo, and the other children of the future past had returned to save the world and carve the path for her very existence.

It had been  _ eight years  _ since Owain had come back, he thought with a distracted shake of his head. He’d hardly been sixteen when he’d followed Inigo into the brink of another world when theirs had been lost, and half that time had gone by again since. Naga, the time never stopped, did it?

Coming back from his distraction, Owain hurriedly took a sip from his tea before it went cold on him, only to find his eyes drawn back in the direction of his cousin. Inigo was still gazing at Say’ri and Ophelia, the oddest of longing looks on his face, potent enough that Owain had to glance away himself after only a moment.

“So,” Owain said, his tone low. “Still no luck on the heir front then, I’m guessing.”

“Ah,” Inigo said, the sound more an expression of surprise than any form of answer. Seemingly coming back to himself, he continued, “No, not as such.”

Owain hummed noncommittally. He’d spent a lot of time abroad in Valm the past two years, once Ophelia had been old enough to travel regularly, which meant he didn’t often spend enough time in Chon’sin to catch the rumors, but he knew what they were. Three years now had Say’ri and Inigo been married (really, it had been four, as they’d eloped shortly after the end of the Valm War, but that wasn’t common public knowledge). Three years of marriage, without any royal relatives to speak of, and not a hint nor a whisper of a child between them. Where, the country wondered, was the heir to their throne?

Judging by the yearning that had just been writ on Inigo’s face, public unrest wasn’t the only problem on the topic, either.

“The healers—” Inigo began, his voice cracking despite how low he’d kept it. He shot a slightly furtive glance toward Say’ri before starting again. “The healers fear the spear she took at Castle Valm may have simply damaged her womb beyond all ability to carry a child.”

Owain glanced up sharply again at that, finding his cousin’s eyes glassy. “That’s a new development,” he said carefully. Considering the last time the two of them had been in the same location—when they’d been in Ylisse visiting extended family that past winter—their planned evening out had ended with a more-than-tipsy Inigo blurting out  _ What if it’s me, what if I’m the one who can’t give her a child, Owain, do you have any idea how badly she wants one— _

“Yeah, well.” Inigo shrugged, his tone gaining a bitter edge. “It’s one of the few explanations that actually makes sense right now, so.” He paused, his tone dropping further. “I suppose I always wondered if that day would have a cost.”

Owain didn’t answer that. He knew that battle in particular had taken one of the highest emotional tolls on Inigo; it had been the one where Say’ri lost her life in their future timeline, and he’d spent both months before and nearly a week after unsure if it would claim her in this world as well. Actually taking the time to weigh his words for once in his life, Owain asked, “So what happens to the throne if you never actually do…?”

Inigo shrugged again, this one helpless. “I really don’t know,” he confessed. “Yen’fay’s long gone and he never had children. Say’ri’s father was an only child, and her grandfather, and trying to go back any further than that in the family tree gets… sketchy,” he admitted. “You get weird people coming out of the woodwork claiming to be fourth and fifth cousins when the line of succession comes up for grabs. And if we start looking on  _ my  _ side of the family, we run into the issue of my mostly-fabricated history  _ and _ have to worry about opening up the whole ‘my marrying Say’ri was all Ylissean power-mongering’ issue from a few years back.”

Owain took a long moment to answer before venturing, “Maybe the healers are wrong.”

“Maybe,” Inigo replied, his tone unconvinced. “One can hope.”

Neither spoke for a long moment.

“It’s just funny,” Inigo began again. “And funny in a weird way, not funny in an amusing way, really, but… back when we were kids, you know, when we were teenagers… neither one of us ever thought we’d have families, did we?” When Owain shook his head, he continued. “Not even after we came back to this time, for me at least. I don’t think I did until after we put Grima down. And you had Ophelia by then, so I’m sure that was different for you, but…” He shook his head. “The point I’m making is that even if we  _ had  _ thought about it… these aren’t the families we would have expected, are they?”

After a moment, Owain shook his head again. Gods knew he wouldn’t trade Ophelia for anything and he’d tear apart the world before letting anyone harm a hair on her head, but trying to raise her on his own, even with the occasional help of their friends, sometimes felt like he was trying to crawl uphill while also in the process of drowning. He’d give a limb—his swordhand  _ or  _ his fell hand, quite frankly—to have Robin back, even for a single day, and he could only imagine Inigo felt roughly the same regarding the children who seemed less and less likely to exist with every passing year.

“And I’m not unhappy,” Inigo added quickly. “I—Naga, don’t think for a moment that I’m unhappy, because I’m not. I love Say’ri with all my heart, you know that, and really I can’t complain about the life I live now. I’m just…”

“Discontent,” Owain murmured, the word rising to his lips without conscious thought.

Inigo blinked at him, tilting his head slightly before saying, “Exactly.”

“...As am I,” Owain admitted.

“I shouldn’t be,” Inigo said, just as swiftly as before. “I really, really shouldn’t be, for every reason that I’ve just said, but—”

“But you are, Inigo. We both are.” Owain set his now-empty cup aside, bringing his hand back to tap his chin. “And I think it might simply be… we are creatures of adventure. It simmers in our blood and calls to our souls. We long for the ventures of peril. Because we’re men of war. Born in it, raised in it, bathed in the blood of battle for so long we don’t know anything else.” He paused, then finished, “And the world doesn’t need that from us. Not anymore. We are men of war living in the age of peace.”

A beat passed before Inigo rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Trust you to put something as simple as ‘being bored’ into such melodramatic terms.”

“I’m not being melodramatic!” Owain insisted. “I’m attempting to put our mutual ennui into terms poetic enough to do it justice!”

Inigo didn’t have time to refute that point, though, because at that moment Ophelia cried, “Daddy! Uncle Inigo! It’s done!”

She skittered over to them, her stockinged feet pounding over the bamboo floors and her twintails bouncing as she went. Nearly running into Inigo in her eagerness to show it off, and in fact bouncing off his knee before she quite managed to stop herself, she thrust the paper into his face.

Inigo leaned back a little bit, so as to actually see the drawing, while Owain peered over the low table to catch a glimpse of it as well. The linework was definitely Say’ri’s, as he’d suspected, and the color was just as unmistakably Ophelia’s. She’d done well at staying in the lines, although…

Clearing his throat, Inigo finally said, “My, what an… intriguing color you chose for the sky. And the mountains. And your dad’s hair. Yes, very inventive.”

Giving him a bright, toothy grin, Ophelia withdrew her artwork and declared, “That’s not Daddy! That’s you, Uncle Inigo!”

Inigo’s eyes went wide, a spluttering sound of hastily-concealed offense escaping him that left Owain laughing so hard he bent double. When he finally managed to wipe his eyes clear, still wheezing a little, he could see Say’ri had a hand clapped over her mouth while her shoulders shook with silent mirth.

“‘Tis some lovely coloring, Ophelia,” Say’ri assured her, evidently having regained her composure before Owain did as she rose to her feet and crossed the room. “Mayhap your uncle is just jealous.”

Inigo peeped in response to that, but was apparently wise enough not to openly contradict.

Ophelia turned back to her, drawing still clutched tightly in her hands. “You can keep it,” she said gravely, extending the paper. “And hang it in your room.”

Inigo peeped again.

“Aye, indeed. And we shall treasure it,” Say’ri said, just as gravely as she settled at the table, sitting with her legs tucked underneath her instead of cross-legged like the other two. “Keep it safe for us for now, though, aye? Is there any tea left?”

Ophelia nodded solemnly, tucking the drawing to her once more before crossing over to stand by Owain. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hello, tiny heroine,” Owain returned. “Finished with your adventures in artistry?”

“Yeah. For now.” Ophelia set her drawing on the table, then clambered unceremoniously into his lap.

“So,” Say’ri began, having poured her own beverage and clasping it in her hands. “Just what were you two muttering about over here?”

“Owain’s tendency toward melodrama,” Inigo said.

“I’m not melodramatic!” Owain said, crossing his arms as best he could behind Ophelia.

“Yeah! Daddy’s not melodramatic!” she echoed, crossing her arms as well.

A beat went past before Inigo glanced at Say’ri, then gestured to the other two. “Look at this. I told Robin, you know, that this kid was going to come out just like him. Somehow my cousin has managed to replicate himself, only little and female.”

“There are worse things to be,” Owain said with a sniff.

“Yeah. There are worse things to be than Daddy,” Ophelia agreed.

“Mm, quite true,” Say’ri said. “She could have turned out like you, my love.”

_ “Hey!”  _ Inigo cried. As she chuckled at his outburst, his lips twisted into a pout. “Darling, are you saying you wouldn’t want me replicated too?”

“Fie, but ‘tis hard enough to keep up with a singular one of you, no less a miniature version.” She paused, then said, “Though from when we were last in Ylisstol, Azur is being quite amiable… if not a tad clingy.”

Inigo rolled his eyes at the mention of his younger, non-time-traveling self. “It’s a phase, he’ll grow out of it.”

“Well we’re still waiting for you to, so clearly it may take a while,” Owain pointed out.

“Owain!”

Owain put on a pointedly innocent expression—eyes rolled toward the ceiling and lips pursed in a whistle—while Ophelia giggled. In truth, it was rather odd to see their younger selves whenever they returned to Ylisse. All twelve of them had been born now, with Lucina—the only one to actually share a name with her elder counterpart—having just turned six.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” a new voice interjected. “‘We’ll wait for you, Severa, don’t worry, take your time.’”

“Hey!” Inigo said, twisting around to face the newly opened front door. “This is us! Waiting for you! Notice we have not gone out for drinks without you!”

“Yeah, because it’s two o’clock in the afternoon and none of the good places are open yet, you nitwit,” Severa replied. “Hi, Say’ri. And Ophelia.  _ You—”  _ she pointed at Owain, “I’ve seen entirely too much of lately, so no hello for you.”

“But a hello for your dear old friend Inigo?” Inigo ventured hopefully. “Who has very generously opened his home to you?”

“Nope,” Severa said, then held up her arms, gesturing to the bags hanging off of them. “Speaking of your home, same room as usual, right?”

“Right side under the balcony,” Inigo agreed. The old royal apartments had been destroyed during the Valm War, meaning Inigo and Say’ri had spent the first chunk of their marriage living in the still-intact guest wing, but the building they currently occupied had been finished the year before, with room for close friends to stay. “Careful, Owain’s above you.”

“Oh,  _ joy,”  _ Severa drawled, hoisting her bags.

“Is that all you brought?” Inigo called after her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is what I bought just now,” she called after him. “Your maids are bringing the rest of my stuff.” She turned back, laying one hand on her hip as best she could around the bags hanging from her arm, and fixed Inigo with a scathing look. “You could  _ help,  _ you know.”

Inigo blinked, then shot a glance toward his cousin and declared solemnly, “Some things never change.”

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Territory of Diabola, Nohr—April 9, 635 ND**

Leo winced as he hit the ground and did his best not to show it. It was amazing, really, how sorely one felt two weeks out of the saddle when one was used to spending every day in it—and how quickly one could forget just how high the withers of a horse making seventeen-three hands really were.

Fortunately—especially considering his present company—it didn’t seem that anyone had noticed the second prince’s misstep. He straightened, keeping a light grip on his stallion’s reins near the bit as he turned and ducked his head in respect. “Your Grace.”

“Your Highness,” the man in front of him returned. He bowed a little deeper than Leo, and when he came back up he had the edge of a frown on his face. “Two princes visiting in two weeks. Normally I’d be flattered.” The duke cleared his throat, running his hand over his salt-and-ginger goatee. “Still. Welcome to Diabola, Lord Leo.”

“It would be my pleasure as well, Lord Wilhelm, were I here under brighter circumstances,” Leo replied, reaching forward to clasp Wilhelm’s hand. As he did, Leo’s destrier flicked his ears back, warning his displeasure at the duke’s proximity; Leo made the softest of “sst-sst” sounds out of the corner of his mouth, informing his mount an attitude adjustment would be shortly in order. “My apologies I couldn’t make it sooner. Xander informed him he regrettably wasn’t much help.”

Wilhelm frowned again. “Heard you had a run-in with some Faceless of your own,” he said.

Leo’s own lips twisted at the reminder. He’d been headed to Diabola two weeks ago when he’d had a chance encounter with three Faceless that he had begun to believe hadn’t been chance at all. His subsequent injuries had been healed easily enough, but the sickness that had followed in their wake had left him all but bedridden for half that time. Even now, after a leisurely ride from the river port nearest Castle Tuefell that had lasted less than an hour, he found himself resisting the urge for a nap. “Abhorrent creatures, really,” he said.

A throat cleared behind him, leaving the both of them glancing back. “Ah, and greetings to you as well, Iago,” Wilhelm said. “You’ll pardon me; you’ve been here so often of late I’d scarcely realized you’d left.”

Iago, king’s tactician of Nohr, nudged his horse forward a few steps past the remaining two of their company and offered the duke a tight smile. “What can I say? I’ve found Diabola so quaint I can hardly keep myself away.”

Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as Iago dismounted—clearly,  _ quaint  _ hadn’t been taken as the most complimentary of adjectives—leaving Leo to hurriedly and smoothly interject, “You remember my retainer, Niles, of course. And this is Hans, Iago’s…” He trailed off.  _ Retainer  _ might have fit again, but tacticians didn’t quite have such privileges.

“Associate,” Iago finished, swinging from his saddle. Behind him, the burly Hans grunted indiscernibly and did the same.

“Well met, Hans,” said Wilhelm. “And my welcome to you as well, Niles.” While the archer nodded and, surprisingly, kept his mouth shut, Wilhelm cleared his throat again, then gestured back to where Castle Tuefell proper rose behind them. “My people will care for your mounts if you care to follow me.”

“Ah,” Leo said automatically. “With all due respect, I’ll put him up myself. Personal preference,” he added at Wilhelm’s slightly puzzled look. “For both him and me.”

“Ah, that’s right,” the duke said, sending Leo’s stallion a bemused look. “They warned me about you, didn’t they? Hati, isn’t that right?”

Hati himself pricked one ear in Wilhelm’s direction before blowing out a bored snort. Leo resisted the urge to echo the sound; unsurprising, really, that word had come through the grapevine of his mount’s mercurial and often  _ volatile  _ attitude. He’d actually been in a startlingly good mood that day, especially considering Leo hadn’t managed to coax anyone on to his back to keep him working during Leo’s illness. The prince could only wonder if Hati was feeling particularly magnanimous or if he was merely saving up his energy for an especially spectacular tantrum later.

“Don’t he and Lord Xander’s horse share a sire?” Wilhelm asked. “Hard to believe when they act so differently, even if they do look identical.”

“They share a dam as well, actually,” Leo said, swinging his double set of reins over Hati’s head as he took a moment to dwell on the irony that Xander and Leo’s horses were more closely related than Xander and Leo themselves were. “Hati was to be Xander’s, originally, though they… didn’t get along,” he said wryly. “Hence he bred Skoll.”

Wilhelm chuckled at that. “Very well, then. I’ll send someone to bring you to my study once you’ve finished.”

“Oh, no need,” Iago interjected. “I’ll keep Lord Leo company and bring him along.”

Wilhelm nodded, while Leo clicked his tongue and urged Hati to fall in step beside him.

Tuefell’s stables were not as grand as Krakenburg’s, but they were clean and bright, and Leo didn’t have to search long to find where he was supposed to put Hati up. A deeply bedded stall greeted them, and the prince had scarcely removed his horse’s bridle before Hati attacked the hay piled in the corner with a vengeance.

“So,” Iago drawled, leaning over the front of the stall and clearly not having bothered to take care of  _ his  _ mount. “Better late than never, I suppose, Your Highness?”

Hati flicked his ears back at the sorcerer’s voice and Leo wished he had some way of doing the same. “You’ve been remarkably tight-lipped about the situation here,” he said instead.

Iago shrugged. “Well, there’s not much to say. Strange Faceless, appearing like they’re being summoned, but nobody’s nearby to do it. That’s all we knew before Lord Xander and I were here last and that’s all we knew when we left.”

Leo wanted to retort that Iago surely knew something about  _ summoning Faceless  _ but quickly bit it back. He had a hunch that Iago himself had something to do with Leo’s own recent run-in with the beasts, but it was better to keep such thoughts close to his vest for now. “Well,” he said through a tight smile. “It’s a good thing I’m here then, no?”

His pointed words had the desired reaction, causing Iago’s eyes to narrow as he let out a ‘hmph.’ Leaning deeper over the stall and causing Hati’s ears to swivel ever further back, the sorcerer continued, “So how are you planning on solving this, mm?”

“Well, firstly, I’ll need to find some of these Faceless,” Leo said, loosening Hati’s girth. The stallion’s tail swished, his discontent clearly growing by the moment. “By all means, Iago, do come closer if you wish to lose a limb.”

Iago froze, seemingly registering Hati’s body language, and only just managed to take a half-step back from the stall before Hati swung his head up and around with his ears entirely flat and mouth agape. Leo rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to actually chastise the stallion; Hati liked his personal space and exactly one human in particular, and the prince couldn’t fault him for that. Leo did notice, with a slight surge of satisfaction, that Iago had gripped the spot on his arm from when he’d learned that lesson the hard way—via Hati’s teeth—a few weeks ago.

“So tell me,” Leo continued as if there hadn’t been an interruption, “is there anything else different about these Faceless from their usual kind besides their size, coloring, and the circumstances of their appearance?”

“Not that I know of,” Iago said. “But that’s for you to find out, isn’t it?”

Leo settled his saddle on the stall window, a tight smile on his features. “I suppose it is, isn’t it?”

Dusk Dragon, but this trip was going to prove interesting.


	3. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected and baffling meeting.

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—April 9, 635**

“I had been meaning to compliment you, Lord Leo,” Wilhelm said, leaning back in his oversized leather chair and bringing his right leg up to rest on his left knee.

“On what?” Leo asked. Had he not just spent the last hour discussing the current Faceless issues with the duke—Faceless that were larger than normal, blood-red rather than gray-green, and seemingly coming from nowhere—he likely would have known _exactly_ what Wilhelm was referring to, and he felt a flash of embarrassment that he hadn’t the moment Wilhelm spoke again.

“On your actions in Cheve.”

“Oh,” said Leo. He shifted slightly in his seat, glancing out the window. Despite the fact that the landscape outside was just as rocky and inhospitable as that which laid beyond Castle Krakenburg, somehow it didn’t feel quite as barren as the same.

“I may have been in the air, but I’ve still never seen anything quite like it,” Wilhelm continued. “You more than earned your shield for it, I’d say.”

“Indeed, it seems so,” Leo replied noncommittally. Despite his mixed feelings about his role in putting down Cheve’s latest rebellion, he’d earned his knighthood from it one way or another, and he would have it officially by that year’s winter solstice.

Still, he could admit that growing an entire forest inside Cheve’s former border wall within a matter of moments was impressive no matter the intent behind it.

“I’ve got a few promising squires here that will be in with you this solstice,” Wilhelm continued. “I’m sure the choices were obvious, but have you picked the companions for your vigil yet?”

Leo nodded. The choices _had_ been obvious, really. In Nohr, those to be knighted each year would hold a vigil the night before, spending it in prayer to the Dusk Dragon and pondering the duties which would soon lay upon them; it was traditional for them to be accompanied by two others, usually family or friends, to keep them focused and alert during the long winter dark. “Xander, of course,” he said. “And my retainer, Niles.”

“Oh.” Wilhelm seemed slightly surprised at that answer. “I rather assumed your father would… he did for Lord Xander, at least…”

Leo wondered how delicately he could phrase the fact that he hadn’t especially _wanted_ his father along, and finally settled for another half-truth. “I thought it better to not impose on Father,” he said primly. “He surely has enough on his plate already. Besides, Niles has been a true friend to me these past few years.” It would be a bit of a break from tradition, considering Niles wasn’t a knight himself, but it was nothing that hadn’t been done before.

“I see,” said Wilhelm. “Well, I suppose I can’t claim I’ve never stuck it to tradition myself.”

“I suppose my taking Niles as a retainer was sticking it to tradition in the first place,” Leo admitted, thinking of when his thirteen-year-old self had found a suicidal thief in the castle and decided to hire him on the spot. “And I don’t _usually_ find myself regretting the decision.”

Wilhelm chuckled and they both lapsed into silence. “How are your sisters?” the duke finally asked. “It seems I missed Lady Camilla both coming and going when last she was here.”

“Camilla’s well,” Leo answered. “As is Elise. She’s nearly qualified to be a combat medic now.”

“My,” said Wilhelm mildly. “Doesn’t the time pass.” He cocked his head slightly to one side, then asked, “And what of Lady Corrin?”

Leo’s heart stuttered to a stop then took off again at a gallop. He’d been doing his level best to _avoid_ thinking of Corrin these past two weeks, for all that his thoughts seemed to circle back to her every time they wandered. Because he was a _fool,_ a mad fool who had let his secrets fester into something else entirely when he hadn’t been looking. The thought still faintly sickened him in a way he was sure it would for years to come.

Seemingly, though, Wilhelm misinterpreted his silence. “My apologies. I hope I didn’t strike a nerve. I know her health is quite delicate.”

Leo shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, she’s quite well these days, actually. It’s been some time since she’s been ill.”

“Ah. How excellent. Perhaps your father will introduce her to the court properly soon, then.”

“Perhaps,” Leo said, and left it at that. Part of him hoped so as well; part of him wanted to inform the duke that the only reason Corrin remained imprisoned in her fortress was her crime of not being _Corrin_ at all, and that shielding her from the rest of the world was all that kept Hoshido from storming their doorsteps in search of their lost Princess Kamui.

He didn’t say as such, of course. Xander, Camilla, and Leo were among the only people who knew that Corrin _was_ Kamui anyway, and being so foolish as to openly spread that knowledge would only result in being on the receiving end of King Garon’s wrath.

Try as he might to avoid the implications of that knowledge, though, Leo could only believe that someday those secrets would come back to bite all of them.

~~~

**River’s Edge Inn, Dai’chi, Chon’sin—April 14, 1019**

To any group of outsiders, they might have seemed like any perfectly normal group of friends, and not a trio that had traveled back in time to set the world on another, less destructive path.

Well, they might have appeared as such had said trio not contained the country’s prince consort, that was.

“Oh,” one of the barmaids had said, almost immediately at the sight of him, and Inigo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was his eyes that usually gave him away in the first place—or more accurately, the Brand of the Exalt that graced his right, proof of his Ylissean royal lineage and instantly recognizable to anyone who was aware he had one. Which, at this point, was basically everyone in Chon’sin. “Oh, Your Highness, I—”

“Yes, hello, it’s me,” Inigo interjected with a cheery wave. “Just out for a drink with my friends. No fuss. Please.”

The girl nodded so hard her ponytail bobbed with the motion. “Of course, of course,” she said quickly. “Um, this way, please.”

“Excellent,” Inigo said, winking and gesturing after her. “After you.”

Despite how crowded the place already was, they found themselves in a prime spot, overlooking the river which split Dai’chi in two and gave the inn its name. “You know,” Severa said, “I can’t decide which is more nauseating.”

“Whatever are you referring to, my fiery friend?” Owain asked.

“That there are people who are _actually_ starstruck at the sight of Inigo, or that he encourages them.”

“I don’t encourage them,” Inigo said with a shrug. “It’s not my fault my charms are simply too irresistible.”

Severa only barked a laugh at that. “Yeah, okay, you keep telling yourself that.”

Meanwhile, Owain’s eyes went wide. “His delusions are growing more powerful…”

“My _delusions!”_ Inigo cried. “I have never heard more hypocritical words come out of your mouth! ‘Meneh meneh, I’m Owain Dark, I’m going to save the world with a skewer and the unbridled power of my fell hand!'”

“You think I could save the world with a skewer?” Owain said contemplatively. “Why, Inigo, I didn’t know you had so much faith in me.” He tilted his head, then said, “On the other hand, I suppose I could do most anything considering _you_ did most of _your_ world-saving with a breadknife…”

“Stop dissing my katana,” Inigo grumbled. “Or I’ll tell Say’ri.”

“Ooh, how scary,” Severa drawled. “Besides, Owain, don’t give him too much credit, really he did most of his world-saving with Falchion anyway.”

“At least when he stopped whining about how he’d rather fight with a _log_ rather than the divine blade which had been passed through the royal family for a millennium…” Owain pointed out.

“Bold words from someone who used to pass out every time he tried to cast a spell,” Inigo retorted.

“Bolder words from someone who has absolutely zero inclinations towards magic whatsoever,” Owain shot back.

Inigo merely shrugged. “Don’t see why I need any when I can use the aforementioned divine blade passed down through the royal family for a thousand years,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, except for the fact that you gave it back to Lucina,” Severa pointed out. “And also the fact that you’re kicking back your heels in the palace most of the time anyway because the world isn’t really at war much these days.”

“Frankly, sometimes I’d rather be at war,” Inigo said with a shrug, then froze as the implications of his statement sank in. Both Severa across from him and Owain beside him shot him the exact same slightly troubled look. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just… given a choice between dealing with Risen and uppity nobles, I’d like to point out that at least you can stab the former.”

“Technically you can stab the latter too,” Owain pointed out. “Although that probably wouldn’t end very well.”

“And then we _would_ be at war again,” Inigo drawled. “And Say’ri would probably kick me out of bed for a while, too.”

“Oh, the horror,” said Severa.

“Glad to know you understand,” Inigo said with a quirking grin and a wink, then lifted his glass to his lips.

No sooner had he done so did a body crash into their table.

 _“Whoa_ there!” Inigo cried, hearing similar cries from both his companions. He surged to his feet, catching their impromptu visitor around the shoulders as the man sagged and nearly fell to the floor. “Careful now. Bit early in the night, isn’t it?”

The man staggered back upright, muttering something Inigo couldn’t make out. Inigo shot a glance towards Owain and Severa and gave them half a shrug, expecting the man to go on his way.

Instead, he spoke again, the words coming clearer this time. “Please,” he managed, before seemingly having to suck in a breath. “Please save my kingdom.”

Inigo froze halfway back into his seat. “...I’m sorry?”

The man shook his head as if to clear it, but the heavy brown cloak he wore stayed resolutely tugged down over any defining features of his face. Only the tips of his bright blue hair offered any sort of distinction. After another moment, he straightened his shoulders, his voice coming far more coherently than it had a moment ago but carrying an undercurrent of astonishment. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Er, last I checked, yeah,” Inigo said, exchanging another, far more wary glance with the other two. All three were on their feet now—Severa’s hand hovered a few inches above the pommel off her sword and Owain didn’t seem to be any further off from drawing his tome. “Sorry, have we met?”

The man shook his head, taking another deep breath. “No. Not as such. And I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “I’m so sorry to ask you this, but I need your help.”

“So you decided _that_ was an acceptable way to get our attention?” Severa demanded, one ginger brow quirking higher by the word.

Once more he shook his head. “My apologies, Severa. I didn’t realize just how… difficult it would be to get here.”

“How do you know her name?” Owain asked, shifting a little in a fashion that might have seemed innocuous if Inigo didn’t know for a fact he was doing it to have a clear shot _around_ Inigo if he needed one.

“I know all of your names, Owain,” the man answered matter-of-factly.

“Only fair that you tell us yours, then?” Inigo said.

The man paused, then nodded. “Anankos,” he said. “My name is Anankos.”

“Okay then… Mr. Anankos,” Inigo said slowly. “So you know our names, and evidently you need our help. But for what?”

Another shake of his head. “I don’t have time to explain here, Inigo,” he said, shooting a wary glance around the room. Despite the commotion they were making, they didn’t seem to have drawn that much attention in a room that was already raucous. “But if you trust me,” he said, producing a folded paper from inside of his cloak and passing it to Inigo, “follow this map and meet with me on the night of the next full moon.”

Just before one of three would surely bark out a laugh at what reason they would have to _trust_ this stranger who had come crashing into them and already knew their names, Anankos’s head jerked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I must go.”

With that, he spun on his heel and ducked back into the crowd at a jog.

“...Wait, wait!” Inigo called after him, hastily shoving the paper into his pocket and throwing himself after the man with Owain and Severa on his heels.

He caught one more glimpse of the brown cloak, passing through the front door, but when Inigo himself reached the exit only a moment later, Anankos—whoever he was—had melted back into Dai’chi’s crowd.

A long silence stretched out. “Well,” Owain finally ventured. “That was weird.”

“That was _creepy,_ more like,” Severa corrected. “He _knew_ us.”

“Yeah, and the barmaid knew me too when we came in,” Inigo pointed out half-heartedly.

“You’re the bloody prince,” Severa shot back.

“And I’ve spent a lot of time in public with both of you over the past few years,” he said. “It’s not exactly _impossible_ for someone to know all three of us.”

“Maybe he just wanted a moment of your attention,” Owain said.

“He went about it in a weird way,” Severa said.

“Mom used to say she’d have people coming up to her on the street with strange stories all the time, just so she’d talk to them,” Owain replied. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. What’d he give you, anyway?”

It took Inigo a moment to register his cousin had directed the last sentence at him. He managed a soft “Oh,” before fumbling the paper back from his pocket and unfolding it. “Well, it’s a map all right,” he said, furrowing his brow. “And it’s… up north, definitely. It might be the Mila Tree, actually?”

Severa reached over, unceremoniously snatching it from his hands. “Yeah, that’s the Mila Tree all right.” She passed it back. “Not like we’re going, though, right?”

A beat passed.

“Right?” she pressed. “I mean, when’s the next full moon? Two weeks from now? We’d have to leave, like, tomorrow. And I just got here. I don’t want to leave again.”

“...Right,” Inigo finally said, tucking the map back away again. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“...No,” Owain admitted. “I suppose not. It might be a trap, anyway.”

“Exactly,” Severa said. “Now, come on, let’s get back in before they give our table away.” She spun on her heel, clicking her fingers at them as she went.

Inigo exchanged one final glance with his cousin behind Severa’s back, shook his head, and followed.

~~~

**Royal Palace, Dai’chi, Chon’sin—April 14, 1019**

The easy banter of earlier in the night quickly faded into _uneasy_ silence, and the trio hardly lingered for another hour before making their way back to the palace. Inigo had whispered his goodnights to his friends, snatched up a candle, then padded, barefoot, up the staircase.

Even in the cool spring dark, the new royal apartments were a fair bit brighter and airier than the old guest wing, simply by virtue of being almost entirely open. The balcony that led to the upper three bedrooms looked down to the great room below, and the other three bedrooms—one of which Severa was currently occupying—were tucked underneath it. Inigo had wondered briefly to himself, when the building had been in the more concrete but still unlivable stages of construction, if he and Say’ri had unintentionally designed it to be so open simply from having spent so much time unrestricted by walls entirely during the course of one war or another.

Presently, Inigo shook his head, sliding back the door of his own room with care. It was as dim as he’d expected, with the exception of his own candle, and he cupped his hand in front of the flame to keep that light from spreading too far till he’d set it behind the dressing screen.

 _One war or another,_ he thought again, resisting the urge to blow out a sigh as he peeked out from behind the screen and let his gaze land on Say’ri’s still, sleeping form. How many had he been through now? Three? Four? Did he count Grima’s resurrection as a ‘war’ when it had lasted hardly more than a week? Did it compare to the three months of the Plegian War he’d actually fought in when he’d presented himself to his family as an anonymous mercenary or the year and a half of the Valm War when the truth of his identity had come out? Had his own timeline been nothing less than one solid war from the day Chrom was killed at the Dragon’s Table when Inigo was nine to the day he’d abandoned the timeline at sixteen?

He’d spent the last three years at peace when half his life before that had been nothing but death and destruction. Peace that he’d _longed_ for with every fiber of his being since the day he’d come to terms with the fact he’d have to take up arms younger than anyone ever ought to.

And now he dared to listen to the whispers of, as Owain had put it, _discontent?_

Inigo shook his head and, now changed, lifted the candle once more, then finally blew it out and set it on the nightstand.

No sooner had he slid under the covers did Say’ri stir, immediately settling into his side and proceeding to nuzzle at his shoulder. Inigo couldn’t help but grin into the darkness—and she called _him_ the snugglebug. “Hello, love,” he murmured, shifting to accommodate her in a way he hoped wouldn’t leave his arm asleep within ten minutes. He had won the argument on ‘beds versus futons’long ago, mainly by pleading that he had spent enough of his life sleeping on the ground, thank you very much, and he gave a moment of thanks for that fact.

“You’re early, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice muted but not yet rough with sleep. “I thought I’d not see you until two in the morning.”

“It’s half-past eleven.”

“Very early,” she said. “One might think you were not as young as you used to be. Or that you’ve finally seen the value of healthy sleeping habits.”

“Me?” Inigo said. “Never.” Say’ri snorted, finally settling her head on his chest. “Actually…” The words of explanation bubbled up in his throat—surely she would say the same as Severa about his bizarre encounter with ‘Anankos’ and he could put the whole thing behind him. “How awake are you?”

“If that question is leading where I think it’s leading, the answer is no,” she said flatly.

It took him a moment to figure out what she was implying, and when he did he felt himself flush up to his ears. “I—buh—darling!”

Say’ri only chuckled at that. “One might think after being married to me for _four years_ you would be a little more blasé about such matters.”

“I—I only meant—”

“But no,” she continued. “You’re as much of a wreck as the night I first wed you.”

“I am not!” he insisted. “I’ve—learned—quite a great deal since then, thank you very much—”

Mercifully, she put a stop to his stuttering, leaning up to peck his lips. “So, just what is it that’s bothering you now? Besides the current topic of discussion?”

Inigo hesitated only a moment before the story came spilling past his lips. “So we get there, right, and we hardly so much as sit down when this guy _falls on our table._ ‘Course, I thought he was drunk, right? But then the first words out of his mouth are… are…” He paused, struggling to remember exactly, then finally settled on, “‘Please save my people’ or something like that.”

Say’ri stared at him for a moment, still resting her chin on his chest, then said, “Fie, but if that isn’t a way to make an entrance.”

“Right? So this guy calls himself ‘Anankos,’ and he knew all our names, too. Finally, he gives me this map—we’re pretty sure it leads to the Mila Tree—and tells us to meet him there on the night of the next full moon. Then he runs out the door, and—” Inigo snapped his fingers, “— _poof,_ off into the night.”

A moment passed. _“Poof,”_ Say’ri finally said.

“Poof,” Inigo repeated.

“How descriptive.”

He shrugged. “It was all just… _weird,_ you know?”

Say’ri gazed at him for a moment before she said, flatly, “And you want to go see what he wants.”

Inigo glanced away, his voice slightly higher than normal as he ventured, “Maybe?” She was still giving him a deadpan stare when he looked back, so he admitted, “Okay, yes, I do. I shouldn’t but I do.”

“Trust you to be immediately intrigued by such a peculiar circumstance,” she said dryly. “And I’m sure your cousin is equally so.”

“I didn’t really talk to him about it much, but… yeah, probably,” Inigo admitted. “But I mean… if he wants us to meet him up north, then what’s even up there? We’d have heard by now if Rosanne were in trouble, so it’s not them… the most that’s up there are a bunch of little duchies and whatnot. And Valm. Oh, wouldn’t it be great if it were Valm? I’d love to take a shot at Lord Kruger again sometime.”

“You formed a very unshaken opinion on that man from the first moment you met him,” Say’ri said dryly, referring to a Valmese diplomat they had met at the end of the Valm War who had risen to ever-higher political influence in the years since.

“What can I say? I don’t like cheats,” Inigo replied. “Anyways, the point I’m making is, if this guy _does_ want us to save his people, then judging on where he’s sending us there can’t be that many people to save, can there? Sounds like a few weeks’ work to me.”

“And if ‘tis a trap?” Say’ri asked.

“I think we can handle just about anything that can be thrown at us by this point, love. Brought down a literal god, remember?”

“Someday your hubris is going to get the better of you, my love.”

“Now _there’s_ a word is never thought I’d have associated with me,” Inigo replied.

She only barked a laugh at that. “Fie, then, if you really want to go then I’ll not stop you. But I cannot join you, either.”

Inigo’s face fell. “Why not?”

“I’ve a meeting with Lord Tai’ki next week, remember? You’ll be long gone by then and nowhere near back.”

“Oh,” Inigo said, almost seeming to deflate. “Damn. I’ll miss you.”

“I could be gone for half an hour and you would miss me,” Say’ri said dryly.

“You’re very missable, darling.” He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it, then. At least you’ll know how I feel whenever you go on your trips and leave me here. Alone.” He kept his tone light, but it hadn’t been uncommon during the last few years for Say’ri to receive some noble invite on which Inigo was snubbed, often simply from the less-than-favorable public opinion of their marriage in the first place.

“Should I refrain myself from lighting the palace on fire during your absence, I’ll consider myself more successful than you.”

“I’ve never lit the palace on fire!” Inigo objected. “...That was Owain.”

“You might have done better to blame Ophelia, there.” Ignoring the fact that he was surely about to continue protesting, Say’ri added, “You ought to visit your sister while you’re headed that way.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea.” Inigo paused, mentally calculating, then said, “Yeah, we might be able to squeeze in a day or two with them. We both know how thrilled Lysander would be.” Another beat went by. “Might see if Luce would want to watch Ophelia while we’re gone, just in case it gets hairy.”

“If you can convince Owain to part with her that long,” Say’ri pointed out.

“Mm, true.” Finally, he nodded. “Right, then. Visit Lucina, head to the Mila Tree, figure out what this Anankos fellow wants, dash in and save the day, back in a few weeks. Sounds like a plan to me.”

“...Fie,” Say’ri said after a moment. “I feel as though I ought to be more annoyed at your hero complex.”

“But you fell in love with my hero complex, darling,” Inigo replied with a wink.

“Despite my best judgment.”

“Ow. I’m wounded.”

“One can only hope that Severa can be convinced to join you.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Say’ri said, “yours and Owain’s odds of survival go up significantly when there is a voice of reason around.”


	4. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everyone I’ve ever loved is here within these walls  
>  I’m sorry, secret siren, but I’m blocking out your calls  
> I’ve had my adventure, I don’t need something new  
> I’m afraid of what I’m risking if I follow you into the unknown… _

**Royal Palace, Dai’chi, Chon’sin—April 15, 1019**

“...and then, with one more mighty swing, the villain was slayed, her people once more to know peace…”

“G’morning,” Inigo interjected, earning dirty looks from both the interrupted Owain and the enraptured Ophelia.

“Uncle  _ Inigo,”  _ the latter said gravely, her hair bouncing in wild, untamed curls around her face as she gave him a stern look that would have been more appropriate with their ages reversed. “Daddy was telling  _ a story.” _

“Was he?” Inigo said mildly, sidling past them towards the nook of a kitchen. “I wouldn’t have known. It’s not like I could hear him caterwauling. In my room. On the second floor.”

“Paper walls are not soundproof, Inigo,” Owain said gravely. “Don’t blame me for this.”

“Yes, I’m well aware these walls are not Owain-proof. It is a terrible design flaw.”

Owain shot his cousin a disgruntled look. “It’s not even morning anymore, anyway,” he pointed out.

Inigo shot him a faintly alarmed look. “It’s not?”

Rolling his eyes, Owain replied, “No, but the fact that you fell for it is telling enough, my friend.”

“Why are my sleeping habits suddenly the popular topic of discussion?” Inigo asked, but continued before Owain could come up with an especially witty reply. “Besides, for once I wasn’t awake at all hours of the night  _ on purpose.” _

Owain didn’t answer right away, feeling the air take a sober turn. “Hey, Ophelia,” he said instead. “Have you showed Uncle Inigo your new stuffed pegasus yet?”

His daughter’s eyes went wide, realization coming to her face before she turned to dart up the staircase without so much as a word.

“Well, that’s about forty-five seconds you’ve bought us,” Inigo said dryly, turning back to face his cousin.

“And a mess to clean up later, considering I’m fairly sure it ended up packed at the very bottom of one of her bags,” Owain said with a sigh, pulling himself to his feet. He tilted his head, then added in a low tone, “You too, huh?”

“How could I not?” Inigo replied, his voice equally quiet. “It’s not every day a call for adventure like that gets almost literally dropped in our laps.”

“No,” Owain agreed. “But…” The words came slowly, dropping like weights from his lips even if he’d spent the entire night trying to convince himself of their veracity. “Maybe Severa’s right.”

Inigo quirked a brow at him over his newly-made cup of tea, taking a sip before he answered. “That’s not the side I expected you to take, my friend.”

“I’m not sure if it’s the side I want to take, in all truthfulness,” Owain confessed. “What if he spoke the truth? What if there really  _ are  _ people who need our help? But on the other hand…” He frowned. “Why  _ our  _ help? Have we not done enough for this world? Is this not the point in our lives where we sit back and enjoy the fruits we’ve won?”

A long moment passed before Owain swore under his breath.

“Who am I kidding?” he finally asked. “Of course I cannot ignore the plea of someone in need! However strange the circumstances and risky the outcome…”

The pounding of tiny feet came again as Ophelia returned, clutching a bright green pegasus nearly the size of her torso. “This is Potato,” she said gravely, presenting it to Inigo.

And Owain remembered why he  _ shouldn’t  _ go on this adventure.

“Ah,” said Inigo. “Lovely to meet you, Potato.” He shot Owain an odd glance and mouthed,  _ Potato? _

“After my horse,” Owain whispered with a sigh. “Ada Potato.”

Inigo gave a snicker that turned into a snort on the way out. Ophelia didn’t seem to notice, instead holding her toy at arms length and beginning to hum a tune.  _ “Po-tay-to the Peg-a-sus, hero of ages…”  _ She began to dance around the room, continuing to make up the song as she went and immediately oblivious to whatever else happened to be going on.

“We can stop at Lucina’s on the way up,” Inigo said in a low tone. “If you’re worried… I’m sure she’d watch her.”

“Yeah,” was all Owain answered, wishing such an idea didn’t tear his heart in two.

“So,” Inigo continued. “Now comes the hard part.”

“...Eh?” said Owain when his cousin didn’t immediately elaborate.

“Now we gotta convince Sev.”

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—April 10, 635**

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Wilhelm quipped, already astride a bulky chestnut when Leo emerged from the shadow of the stable with Hati in hand. The prince’s own stallion flicked his ears back as a blast of icy rain hit them, making it very clear just what  _ he  _ thought of the weather Leo was forcing him out in.

“A wonderful welcome you’ve given me, Lord Wilhelm,” Leo quipped in return, swinging Hati’s reins over his head. Hati was not outfitted for war that day, but he had on a simple curb bit rather than the double bridle Leo favored for pleasure riding, lest he be left trying to manage two sets of reins if battle fell upon them. Leo himself, however, had on his full set of armor under his rain cloak—the last time he’d run across Faceless his lack of armor had gotten him in trouble, and he certainly wasn’t going to make that mistake again when he was deliberately hunting them.

Leo didn’t bother to look for a mounting block; he’d used Brynhildr to boost himself into the saddle so many times that it was nothing less than habit, and he didn’t even need to do more than have the divine tome on his person to accomplish it anymore. He’d sorted his reins and picked up his stirrups before looking up again, and when he did he found himself on the receiving end of a particularly impressed look from Wilhelm. Leo realized, belatedly, without one knowing he’d used Brynhildr, vaulting six feet into the air from a standstill in a full suit of armor—even a set that was magically strengthened and lightened—would have appeared to be  _ quite  _ the feat of athleticism.

Briefly, Leo felt his cheeks flush, leaving him adjusting the hood of his cloak. Fortunately, Wilhelm spoke after only a moment had passed.

“Do you know where Iago is, then?”

Before Leo could answer, Niles spoke up, settling into the saddle of his own mare. “He and Hans decided they had more…  _ pressing  _ activities to engage in. I can’t imagine why.”

Out of habit, Leo played the words back, looking for his retainer’s perpetual innuendos so he could shoot him a suitably chastising look, only to realize Niles was likely referring only to the weather. As if reading his mind, Niles turned to shoot him a perfectly innocent grin.

“Well,” Wilhelm said lightly, seemingly unbothered by the obvious slight. “Nobody here but us chickens, then, huh?” He turned in the saddle, gesturing to his own two guards—both seeming to be the sturdy, silent type, mounted on nearly-matching bays—then pulled his own tome from the depths of his cloak. He murmured an incantation, a ball of light bursting into existence into his hand that he held aloft against the encroaching storm. “Tally-ho!”

~~~

An hour east of Tuefell, the barren, rocky plains began to sprout the thin, twisting trees common near the Bottomless Canyon, though the Nohrian spring was still young enough that only a few of them sported the smallest of buds. It was far from the prettiest place in Nohr, though Leo knew from experience that the northern wastelands, several days’ ride above them, kept it from qualifying as the ugliest.

“How far are we from the border?” Leo asked at a moment the rain had quieted enough for his words to be audible.

“Mm… five, six hours, maybe?” Wilhelm replied. “Depends on the time of year, really. Why, are you in the mood for sightseeing now that you’re this far east?”

Leo shook his head. “As impressive as the Bottomless Canyon surely is, I’m quite content to leave it be.”

No sooner had the prince finished speaking did Hati jerk his head up, gazing east with nostrils flared. A low whicker started in his chest, so deep that Leo scarcely heard it, only just identifying it by the vibration in the stallion’s barrel.

He took a firmer grip on the reins, then shifted them into one hand to shield his eyes. “Do you smell that?” he asked. Once he’d caught even the faintest whiff of it, the sharp, sickly sweet and coppery scene of decay all but assaulted him. It was no wonder his destrier had reacted to the smell of death.

“Whatever it is,” Wilhelm said after a long moment, “it isn’t good.”

Leo could only hum his agreement to that, turning his mount into the wind and bracing himself for whatever it was they would find.

Twenty minutes later, they found it.

A camp sat at the top of a rocky knoll, slightly sheltered under a particularly close grouping of trees, its fire long since burned out. Most of the tents had fallen, though two still stood, the canvas flapping in the wind lending an eerie sound to the otherwise silent place.

Most noticeable, however, were the bodies—a dozen or so, days old, frozen in the positions they’d died in a way that spoke that this camp had held no survivors to dispose of their fallen.

Leo finally had to hold one hand to his face to keep from retching at the scent which now hung so thickly he could all but taste it. “They aren’t yours, are they?” he managed at last, shooting a look at Wilhelm.

The duke quickly shook his head. “I haven’t been sending anyone out from the castle for more than a day, especially not the knight trainees. For just this reason,” he added, directing his horse to circle the camp. “I have no idea who these people are.” He murmured something that Leo couldn’t quite make out, though from the words he did catch the prince could only assume it was some sort of rite for the fallen.

“So you’re assuming your local nuisances did this,” Leo said, eyes narrowing as he continued to gaze at the scene.  _ Something  _ was tripping him up, some little voice ticking away in the back of his head that told him he was missing something important here, but whatever it was hadn’t quite made itself known yet.

Wilhelm looked up again, fixing Leo with a steady gaze. “Wolves wouldn’t have left bodies,” he said flatly. “Wyverns would have trashed the place far more than this. I doubt it could be anything  _ but  _ Faceless.”

Leo was halfway through an absent nod when it hit him. Wordlessly, his eyes going wide, he swung from Hati’s back, his boots crunching over the rocks as he bent down beside one of the bodies to retrieve the man’s fallen bow.

The supple wood felt odd in his hands as he lifted it, and not simply because he’d never trained with the weapon himself. A crunch of hooves sounded behind him, and scarcely another moment passed before Niles spoke. “Lord Leo,” he began. “That’s—”

“I know,” Leo said under his breath, before turning and extending the weapon to Wilhelm. “Take a look at this.”

The duke had hardly held it for a moment before he looked back at Leo, alarm in his features. “That’s a Hoshidan yumi.”

“Indeed,” Leo said, taking another look around the camp as his earlier unease finally clicked into place. The ruined clothes on the bodies, with their colors and cuts that just weren’t quite Nohrian; the tents that were not built to withstand the weather which accosted them relentlessly. He arched a brow in the duke’s direction, his voice faintly accusing in a way he couldn’t quite help despite his admiration for the man. “Did they come across the Canyon?”

Wilhelm shook his head in a way that, thankfully, didn’t seem anything less than genuine. “Not unless they’ve found a new place to cross,” he said. “Our border patrol is always active and I haven’t heard a whisper from them. We’ve been doubly active the past few months, with all the rumors.”

“Maybe they came up from Nestra,” one of the duke’s guards suggested.

“They made it an awful long way if they did,” Leo said. “I would be terribly impressed if that were the case.”

A long silence stretched out. “Well,” Niles said. “At least they won’t be bothering us now.”

“No, I don’t suppose they will,” Leo replied, casting one final look around before striding back toward Hati. “My father will need to hear of this, though.”

“Of course,” Wilhelm said, his tone slightly defeated.

Leo shot him a long look as he settled back into the saddle, then cast another back at the fallen Hoshidans.

  
  


~~~

**Royal Palace, Dai’chi, Chon’sin—April 15, 1019**

“How.”

Both Owain and Inigo sent Severa bemused looks as she buried her head in her hands.

“How did I  _ know  _ you two were going to drag me in on this? Oh, that’s right, because I know you both have  _ rocks for brains.” _

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your dear old friends, Severa,” Inigo replied mildly, absently stroking his hand down the back of the especially fluffy gray cat that had settled in his lap. Said feline, accidentally acquired, had long been dubbed ‘Soot Gremlin’ for reason that befuddled Owain’s great naming prowess.

“It’s not a very nice thing to pester me about this  _ ridiculous  _ idea,” Severa retorted. “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” She paused, let out an exaggerated sigh, and continued, “And why am I  _ listening?” _

“Because you know we’re always fun to be around? And you can’t resist the overwhelming draw of our company?” Inigo said.

“Because the siren call of adventure sings to your weary soul?” Owain picked up immediately. “And even your stony heart must melt at the plight of a lost soul in need of our aid?”

Severa huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay,  _ fine.  _ We’ll go see what this Anankos guy’s problem is. But we’re staying at  _ nice places  _ on the way up.”

“We’ll probably stop at Lucina’s,” Inigo informed her.

She nodded at that, now counting on her fingers as she listed her terms. “We’re staying at nice places, including Lucina’s. And you guys are buying my food. And when we’re done you’re both taking me shopping. On your dime.” At their dismayed looks, she pointed at Inigo. “Don’t act like you haven’t got an entire royal treasury at your disposal.”

“I can’t use the royal treasury on… dresses and baubles,” Inigo protested.

Severa shrugged. “Guess you’re going by yourselves then.”

Royal cousins exchanged a look for a long moment before Owain let out a grudging sigh. “Very well,” he said. “We accept your terms. Punitive though they may be.”

Severa snorted, repeating  _ “Punitive,”  _ under her breath. “Oh, I’m so going to regret this,” she sighed. “Whatever. All right. So we’re going. This  _ better  _ be worth it.”

“Surely the journey in itself is reward enough!” Owain said. “Wouldn’t you say, Inigo?”

“...Sure,” said Inigo, still petting his cat. “Whatever you say.”

Owain perked up immediately.  _ “Whatever  _ I say, you say? There are a lot of things I could say that you have said I can say now.”

Inigo glanced up, blinking, then finally managed,  _ “What?” _

Neither one of them noticed when Severa actually left.

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—April 10, 635**

Niles didn’t announce himself before entering Leo’s chambers, which most likely meant Niles had actually announced himself two or three times and Leo had been too deeply engrossed in his current task to notice.

“Lord Leo?” A long moment passed in which Niles, attired in a sleeping robe and with his pale hair still damp, sent Leo an appraising look. “You do remember I drew you a bath an hour ago?”

Leo, seated at his desk, had a puzzled moment to wonder how Niles had known so immediately before realizing he was still dressed in his less-than-immaculate clothing from the day. “...I do seem to remember that, yes,” he admitted, the sheepishly added, “An hour? Really?”

“Close to a time and a half that, if we’re being truthful,” Niles replied.

“Damn,” Leo said, bending forward and pinching the bridge of his nose.

With a barely muted sigh, Niles moved toward the bathroom. “I’ll draw you another.”

“No, don’t bother, it’s my own fault,” Leo replied. He looked up again, gazing at the papers before him for a moment more—and their crumpled cousins—before deliberately corking his inkwell.

“Having trouble, milord?” Niles asked, taking the chance to peer over Leo’s shoulder at the topmost, half-drafted letter. “Regarding today’s incident, I assume?”

Leo nodded, the formal words addressed to his father swimming in front of his eyes until he let them fall shut. “Any way I phrase the information seems to make Duke Wilhelm seem either ignorant or incompetent.”

“And you’d rather avoid that.”

“Wilhelm is one of the only halfway decent people in the entire Nohrian court, and you didn’t hear me say that,” Leo replied. Niles mimed pinching his lips shut and nodded. “I’d prefer not to give Father an excuse to go looking for a replacement.” Leo sighed and shook his head. “I’m just trying to figure out  _ how  _ this whole thing happened. If they came across the Canyon, they should have been spotted. Unless they…” He trailed off. “Oh, seven hells, I hope not.”

“You hope not what?”

“Unless they’ve  _ made  _ another way across,” Leo said. “And to do that, they’d need the help of someone who could use a Dragon Vein.”

Niles hummed thoughtfully. “Princess Hinoka, perhaps? She seemed to have quite the vendetta last time you two hooked up.”

Leo rolled his eyes at the phrasing, wincing internally at the reminder of the first and only time he’d crossed paths with the eldest Hoshidan princess. He’d been fourteen, only having just received Brynhildr, and Hinoka’s said vendetta against Nohr had been how Leo had learned the truth about his so-called sister’s true identity.

He’d rather not think about Corrin right now.

“That would make sense,” Leo finally admitted. “But whatever the truth may be, I’m sure Father will call me back to Krakenburg as soon as he hears it, and I’d prefer to stay here for now and progress on our  _ true  _ mission. And trying to phrase  _ that,”  _ he gestured at the papers strewn in front of him, “has proved easier said than done.”

“With all due respect, milord,” Niles began, “leave it for the morning. You’re hardly doing yourself any good angsting over it.”

Leo sighed, leaning forward again to prop his elbow on the desk and rest his chin in his hand. “At this point, I suppose I must. But Father still must hear about it soon.”

“Of course,” Niles said, coming to lean against Leo’s desk. A moment passed before he spoke again. “If I may be so bold… you haven’t seemed quite yourself these past few weeks.”

Leo hesitated, weighing his words. He and Niles had an odd relationship for master and servant—partially from their vastly different upbringings, partially from the fact that Leo had been only thirteen and Niles had been nearly eighteen when the latter had come into the service of the former, and partially from the fact that Leo had so few people who remained  _ stable  _ in his life that those who did earned a sort of stubborn loyalty from the second prince. So, while all decorum dictated a liege ought not have such a personal discussion with their retainer, Leo finally asked, “Have you ever… learned something about yourself you find you cannot help but loathe?”

Niles tilted his head and didn’t speak for a long moment. “There is nothing about you I could ever loathe, Lord Leo,” he said in a low tone. “But the answer to that question, personally, is yes.”

His retainer’s assurances fell on deaf ears, though, because all Leo could do was press forward regarding the second half. “And… what did you do about it?”

“I changed,” Niles said flatly. “Or I learned to live with it. Those are the only choices, really.”

Leo’s lips turned down into a frown as he glanced away. “I suppose you’re right,” he murmured.

Niles, meanwhile, only smirked. “Of course, if neither of those work, just come find me. There  _ is  _ a third option.”

“...There is?”

“It’s called me taking you to a pub, buying you a drink, and finding you someone pretty. Always does the trick.”

Leo let out a sound that was intended to be a derisive snort but ended up more of a mortified choke. “I fear such a thing will be forever relegated to the land of your dreams, Niles.”

“Oh, do I have permission to dream about you, Lord Leo?” Niles asked, clutching his hands over his heart. “How very generous of you.”

Rolling his eyes, Leo flapped a hand toward the door. “Good  _ night,  _ Niles.”

Niles bowed, giving a delicate wave as he came back up. “Sweet dreams, milord.”

~~~

**Royal Palace, Dai’chi, Chon’sin—April 16, 1019**

While once the palace had been completely cut off from the rest of the city, an isolated island on the river which carved through Dai’chi, now a long, narrow bridge connected it to the nearest shore. It was guarded, of course, and a symbol more than anything—a connection from the monarchs to their people, a promise not to retreat from their problems into luxury.

Also, it made getting across the river a fair bit easier.

“Daddy,” Ophelia said gravely from on top of Owain’s shoulders, clutching tightly to Potato the Pegasus. “Why isn’t Aunt Say’ri coming?”

“...Well,” Owain said, glancing back down the bridge. Inigo and Say’ri were a fair few paces behind, arms slung around each other, conversing in low tones. “She’s busy, I suppose.”

Ophelia didn’t answer for a long moment. “Too busy to go on a  _ mystical adventure?” _

Owain had to pause and catch his breath for a moment—Naga, his daughter really was after his own heart—before he finally managed to nod, which only dislodged Potato enough for one wing to flap down in front of his eyes. “Well, yes. Can you move your toy, please?”

“Oh,” Ophelia said, repositioning the pegasus to perch on top of Owain’s head again. A moment later, she sniffed. “I hope she’s not too sad.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Owain said quickly, heart seizing at the potential of Ophelia  _ crying,  _ and that wouldn’t do at all. “Even the mundane can prove adventuresome, if one approaches with the right attitude.”

“But she’ll  _ miss  _ it,” Ophelia continued, her tone still dangerously wobbly.

“How about,” Owain said without missing a beat, “we work on your letters while we’re gone, and then we can write everything down that happens, and when we can get back you can give it to Say’ri so she feels like she was there?”

Ophelia sniffed one final time, then quietly said, “Okay.” Scarcely a moment passed, though, before they reached the door of the stable and she perked up, squirming. “Daddy, put me down! I want to see the horses!”

“Don’t run,” he said automatically, peering inside to see their three horses—his own Ada, Inigo’s Scottie, and Severa’s Studlee—already saddled and awaiting them.

“‘Kay,” Ophelia said, though her walking speed once she was on the ground very nearly resembled running. Owain gazed after her for a long moment, reprimands dying on his tongue, then closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

“We won’t be long,” Inigo said in a low tone, the words clearly not addressed to his cousin.

“Aye, and you’d best not,” Say’ri replied, then seemed to draw in a breath of her own. “Say hello to your sister for me.”

“I will.”

“And Gerome as well.”

Owain could picture the comically offended look on Inigo’s face and found he had conjured it perfectly once he opened his eyes. “If I must,” Inigo said loftily.

“You must,” Say’ri said, deadpan.

“Are you two idiots coming or what?” Severa called, leading Studlee toward the stable doors.

“Some of us want to say  _ goodbye,  _ Severa,” Inigo shot back.

“Well would you hurry up about it? I’m not waiting around all day for you!”

Inigo huffed and rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to Say’ri. “Farewell, my love,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Until we meet again.”

“And you call  _ me  _ the dramatic one,” Owain said with a shake of his head. “Ophelia, come on!”

“Gods, is a man not allowed to miss his wife?” Inigo complained.

“You haven’t even left her yet!” Severa shouted to him.

“Is a man not allowed to preemptively miss his wife?”

“No,” Owain and Severa said together. “Now come  _ on!”  _ the latter continued.

Inigo shook his head, gave his queen one final kiss, and managed a soft “Bye.” With that, he strode over, reaching for Scottie’s reins, and asked, “Happy now?”

“No,” Owain and Severa said together again.

“You’re both impossible to please,” Inigo said with a shake of his head.

“And still you love us for it,” Owain shot back, settling Ophelia onto Ada’s withers.

“For some strange reason.”

“Yeah, well, we all question your judgment most of the time anyway,” Severa said airily.

“Hey!”

Owain shook his head, a slight smile on his face, the banter continuing as they set off into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soot Gremlin: A recent addition to this 'verse who is liable to get a fic of her own soon which explains her... unique name. But, uh, yeah, Inigo and Say'ri have a cat, it's officially canon now.


	5. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Broken swords and dragon’s bones scattered on the way back home  
>  Beating to the sound of clashing steel, when they’re on our heels  
> Now chant the tales and legends told, strengthened by the hymns of old  
> Weathered as this winding road is long, so we sing our traveler’s song..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, unfortunately to his fans, quite a Leo-light chapter--there's just too much going on over in the Awakening side of things to focus on him right now, and the next chapter may be similar. But, well, we've nearly got everyone in the same dimension... ;)

**South end of Wyvern Valley, Rosanne—April 27, 1019**

“So you’ve just decided, after all of that, that you’re going to go meet the man. On his terms,” Lucina said dryly, idly pushing the swing she sat on with one foot while her other leg was tucked up beneath the toddler on her lap.

“Mm, pretty much,” Inigo said, resting his chin on his own knee so he could twist to face his sister from his seat on the porch steps. “Have any better ideas?”

“Perhaps not off the top of my head, but I’m quite certain anything I came up with would be less nonsensical than that,” Lucina replied.

Severa, leaning back against the front door, snapped her fingers and said,  _ “That’s  _ what I told them!”

“And yet you still consented to journey with us,” Owain pointed out, propping himself up on the porch railing.

“Yes, well, don’t expect the same from me,” Lucina said, smoothing a hand over her younger son’s hair. Adrian had inherited his maternal grandmother’s soft pink locks—and some of Olivia’s shyness as well, it seemed, unlike the elder Lysander. “I have two small mouths to feed.”

“And one big one,” Inigo added, then held up his hands as three incredulous looks were sent his way. “Minerva! I meant Minerva!”

Owain gave a thoughtful pause, then said, “Of all our fair compatriots, I think Gerome is the  _ least  _ likely to be accused of having a big mouth, considering it is a rather impressive feat to pry half a dozen words at a time out of him.”

“Exactly!” Inigo said. “So you can stop giving me that look now, Luce.”

His sister didn’t have time to answer before two delighted squeals came from the yard. Lysander and Ophelia had broken off from whatever game they were playing and were now both gazing skyward, shielding their eyes to make out the steadily descending form.

“Speak of the dragon,” Inigo said under his breath.

Lucina only sighed, shaking her head as Minerva’s shadow grew nearer. “Come on, Adrian,” she coaxed. “Let’s go see your father.”

No sooner had she stood, though, did Inigo feel a wave of anxiety that he was fairly sure had nothing to do with the impending arrival of his brother-in-law. He forced himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore the sudden dryness of his throat, and managed to get out a remarkably level, “Hey, shove over, Sev.”

Severa rolled her eyes in return but obligingly scooted far enough to the side for Inigo to pass through the front door. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment, sucking in a breath.

Was this really a fool’s errand, or worse? Would they have all done better to take Anankos’s words as the ravings of a drunken man and leave it at that? Every person he spoke to seemed to think so, even as every instinct in his body clamored to tell him their summons was far too important to be dismissed.

He really, really wished Say’ri had come with them.

When Inigo opened his eyes again, he found they had adjusted to the cottage’s dim interior, and his gaze was helplessly drawn to the heavy stone fireplace in the corner. A semblance of a smile came to his features; even in the muted lighting, the holy steel blade hanging above the mantel was as unmistakable as an old friend’s face.

Falchion.

Some part of Inigo still ached to carry the divine blade, he realized as he strode closer, already lifting a hand toward the hilt. Even now, he still carried his old katana on his hip any time he left the palace, but such a habit came from long-held practice rather than any real need to defend himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn a blade against anything more threatening than a training dummy.

But Falchion… Falchion nearly  _ was  _ an old friend to him, for all that he’d hardly wanted to touch the sword when he’d unceremoniously inherited it after Lucina’s supposed death. It had taken him nearly two years before he’d started using it as anything other than a backup weapon, and only then after he’d lost no less than three other swords to various mishaps. Owain had joked (or at least, had  _ probably  _ been joking) that Falchion had cursed Inigo for refusing to use it.

The old handle that had long been one with his palm warmed his hand as he touched it now, for all that it had been hanging unused for long enough to gather dust. And maybe that was a good thing—a good thing that the world hadn’t  _ needed  _ Falchion for that long.

It still sent a pang through Inigo’s heart as he withdrew his hand and left the divine blade hanging in its place.

“Are you all right, my friend?”

Inigo jumped at his cousin’s voice, spinning away from Falchion like he’d been caught stealing a fresh pie from the kitchens. “I’m fine,” he said quickly.

A little too quickly, evidently, judging by the way Owain merely raised his brows in Inigo’s direction. Sometimes it still caught the latter off-guard, that remnant of grief that popped up in Robin’s absence, one moment every so often when Owain would stay silent when Inigo expected him to speak.

“All right,” Inigo admitted. “I’m just…” He trailed off. “Do you have a bad feeling about this?” he finally whispered. “Like… whatever we’re about to get into is so much bigger than we think it is?”

Owain didn’t answer for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said slowly.

“I’ve just…” Inigo began again. “Ever since we left Dai’chi, I’ve just had this… anticipation. And part of me thinks we should just forget the whole thing and have a nice visit with my sister’s family and go home. But the rest of me thinks… that we can’t  _ afford _ to do that. And I don’t know why.”

“...That’s quite the gut feeling you have, my friend,” Owain said, tilting his head slightly.

“Now if only I could figure out what it meant,” Inigo replied dryly, then sighed and added in a lower tone, “I’m not sure I’ve felt like this since… since right before we came back.”

Owain’s brows shot up toward his hairline again. “That  _ is  _ quite the gut feeling,” he repeated.

Inigo shrugged, staying silent for a moment. “Well,” he finally said, forcing his tone light. “Full moon’s in three days, yeah? Guess we’ll find out if I’m just being paranoid.”

Owain’s own voice mimicked Inigo’s, quickly transforming into its typical teasing. “Well, perhaps you ought to speak with Lucina about laying hands on the divine Falchion once more. If such a hunch is correct, it would do better at defending your person than old Lilith the Breadknife.”

Inigo crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in his cousin’s direction. “You have  _ such  _ a problem with my perfectly usable katana.”

“You broke it,” Owain said.

_ “You  _ broke it!”

“Inigo,” Owain said, rolling his eyes, “it’s been  _ eight years.” _

“Then why do you keep bringing it up?” Inigo shot back. Owain did not seem to have an answer to that; a moment later he didn’t need one as the door opened once more with a wash of light.

“I had heard a rumor that you were planning on invading my home, and yet still I clung to the hope it was false.”

“Hello, Gerome,” Inigo said with a cheeky wave. “Good to see you too.”

“Fair masked compatriot!” Owain greeted as well. “Don’t feign enthusiasm on our behalf, for we do not require it.”

Gerome responded to both of those with a deadpan stare—or at least what appeared to be one, considering he never fully had given up the mask he’d worn during the long wars of their younger years. He ended up with two matching grins in response.

“At least Severa,” the wyvern rider finally said, “was kind enough to help unload Minerva.”

Royal cousins exchanged glances. “Annnnd she’s going to murder us if we don’t,” Inigo said, already making for the door.

~~~

Later that night, when dinner had been eaten and the sun had gone down, the traveling trio arranged themselves in the living room with long-established silence. Lucina and Gerome did not have a spare bedroom, which meant Ophelia was bunking with her second cousins, Severa had laid claim to the living room couch, and Inigo and Owain were left to bedrolls on the floor.

“If either of you two snore,” the redhead warned, pulling down her trademark twintails in order to braid her hair back for the night, “I’m going to drop a pillow on your head, no second thoughts.”

“I don’t snore,” Inigo said quickly.

“Neither do I,” Owain added.

“You do.”

“I don’t!”

Inigo shot him a look. “Sorry, who shared a tent with you for, like, half our lives?”

“Well, I also shared a tent with  _ you,  _ and I have a great deal of things I’ve learned during such a time which I’m not sure you want shared with the public,” Owain told him.

“Only because you have  _ zero  _ sense of modesty, privacy, or anything that remotely resembles either,” said Inigo, rolling to one side and propping his head on his hand.

“It’s a wonder you survived,” said Owain.

“It’s amazing how casually you can speak of nearly ending my life by heart attack,” Inigo said. “One might think you didn’t care about me or something.”

“Inigo, you damn near keel over if someone looks at you funny,” Severa said. “It’s a greater feat that he  _ didn’t  _ manage to kill you.”

“Daddy,” came the familiar interjection of Ophelia, ceasing the current topic in its tracks.

“Hello, tiny heroine,” Owain said, craning his neck to peer down the hallway. “Do you require a bedtime story before your time of slumber?”

When Ophelia emerged into the light, though, she sported a wobbly lip and dangerously bright eyes. “Aunt Lucina,” she said in a tone reserved for the most grave of transgressions, “is making  _ plans.” _

“Er,” Owain said. “Indeed, I would imagine. You’re going to be spending some time with them, after all. I’m sure she’s got a plethora of fun activities in store—”

That, evidently, had not been the correct answer, because Ophelia’s next breath came in a sob. “But I want to go with  _ you!  _ On a m-mystic adventure!”

“...Uh oh,” Inigo whispered.

“Oh, gawds,” Severa echoed.

“Er,” Owain repeated, holding his arms out as his brain scrambled to come up with a satisfactory answer. “Well, my sweet scion, the problem is… mystic adventures are places for  _ big  _ heroes and heroines… as they can be rather dangerous for little ones… So for right now, it’s best for you to stay here with your aunt and uncle where it won’t be quite so dangerous. Hopefully.”

A moment passed.

Failure.

“But I  _ am  _ a big heroine!” Ophelia said, crossing her arms tightly over her plush pegasus, tears running down her cheeks. When she spoke again, she could only make it a few words at a time before her own sobs interrupted her. “And I want—to go—on a quest—to save the world—like you and Mommy!”

This was the problem, Owain thought ruefully, of raising his child on slightly-exaggerated supernatural tales of valiance.

And gods help him if Ophelia ever had to save the world the way Robin had.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t think we’ll be doing much world-saving this time. We’ll save that for when you’re older, hmm? I’m sure you’ll have much more fun here with Aunt Lucina and your cousins than you will with us. Maybe Uncle Gerome will let you ride Minerva, how does that sound?”

“I don’t—want—to ride Minerva. I want—to go—on an adventure.”

Owain blew out a sigh, holding his arms out to his daughter once more. “Come on, now, my little mage-in-training. I think the only adventure we’re taking right now is to your bed.”

Ophelia only sniffled her response to that, and he didn’t get anything else coherent out of her as he picked her up and deposited her back in her bed.

No one spoke for a long moment when he came back out, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“She,” Severa finally said, “has got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“You can say that again,” Inigo replied.

“I know,” Owain said, flopping back onto his bedroll. “I am  _ well  _ aware, as a matter of fact.” He sighed once more. “Would it really be so bad if we brought her along—”

“Yes,” Severa said.

“We don’t have any idea what we’re getting into, remember?” Inigo added. “Might not exactly be child-friendly.”

Owain leaned his head back, finally fluffing a hand through his hair, then said again, “I know, I know. I just hate to leave her.”

“Welcome to the club, my friend,” Inigo told him.

“You don’t have kids, Inigo,” Severa said dryly.

“I have a cat. Also a wife. Surely they count for something.” Inigo still glanced away, the edge of a frown tugging on his features that spoke of an old wound being poked at.  _ You don’t have kids, Inigo. _

“I like how you put the cat before the wife,” Owain interjected quickly, before his cousin could dwell too much on that line of thought.

“Soot Gremlin will probably miss me more than Ophelia misses you,” Inigo told him airily. “Just saying.”

“Okay,” Severa said, flopping back on the couch. “Both of you shut up so I can get my beauty rest.”

“But Severa, my dear, you’re already beautiful,” Inigo told her, turning a winning smile in her direction only to immediately catch a pillow in the face. “Hey! I’m keeping this,” he told her, immediately folding his arms around the offending projectile.

“Sure. Whatever. Feel free.”

Inigo caught Owain’s gaze before rolling his eyes in Severa’s general direction, earning a shake of the head in return.

Owain himself sent one final glance down the hallway to where his daughter laid before pulling himself up on his knees and blowing out the candle.

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—April 26, 635**

“Why, good morning, Your Highness,” Iago said, his voice almost bright as he sauntered into one of Tuefell’s smaller dining rooms. “How good to see you.”

“Good morning, Iago,” Leo replied, his voice painfully level as he cast the sorcerer a look over the top of his breakfast.

“I’ve been looking for you, actually,” Iago continued, leaning over the table and tapping his nails against the lacquered wood. “I received a letter from His Majesty this morning.”

“Did you now,” Leo said mildly.

“He  _ said,”  _ Iago continued, all but crowing his triumph, “that he sent you a letter calling you back to Krakenburg that you ought to have received over a week ago.”

“Did he really,” Leo replied, knowing full well said letter was nothing but cinders in his fireplace, as it had been since mere moments after he’d opened it. “It must have gotten lost.”

The wind seemed to leave Iago’s sails at Leo’s utter refusal to rise to his bait; the sorcerer’s smirk turned into a frown as he admitted, “I suppose it must have. Still,” he said. “You  _ are  _ now aware of his summons, and that’s the important matter.”

“Indeed,” Leo said, forcing his disappointment away from his neutral features. He  _ had  _ purposely ignored his father’s last letter, but it wasn’t a trick he could get away with twice.

But  _ why,  _ he wondered, after spending over two weeks in Diabola, had they not found the Faceless which had summoned Leo there in the first place? Wilhelm had spoken of the creatures like they were a plague, yet even with daily trips out of the castle, Leo hadn’t actually encountered any. He’d hoped to extend his visit for as long as possible simply to satiate his own curiosity.

Then again, he’d expected this from the moment he’d identified the Hoshidan camp. To King Garon, potential incursion from their neighboring state was of far more importance than a handful of rogue Faceless.

“I’ll speak with Lord Wilhelm,” Leo finally said. “And see if we can charter a boat for this afternoon.”

“Oh, no,” Iago said. “I think I’ll stay here a little longer. His Majesty does not require me yet.”

Leo quirked a brow in the tactician’s direction. “Very well,” he finally said, grudgingly. He’d risked enough ignoring King Garon’s summons once.

He dared not risk a second time.

~~~

**South end of Wyvern Valley, Rosanne—April 28, 1019**

“Hey, Inigo?” Owain called across the short aisleway of Gerome and Lucina’s barn—which was really little more than a glorified paddock, covered to keep the resident wyverns from investigating the horses for their meal potentials.

“Yeah?” Inigo said, popping up from where he was bent over to pick out Scottie’s feet.

“I’ve got a problem,” Owain said ruefully, tugging on Ada’s halter until the mare reluctantly stepped forward.

And reluctant she was, for good reason—even an eye as untrained as Ophelia’s would’ve recognized she was lame.

“Oh,” Inigo said, crossing his arms. “That is a problem.”

“I’m not sure if she picked up a stone and bruised herself, or…” Owain trailed off.

“Well, you’re definitely not riding her,” Inigo said.

They both stared at each other for a long moment before Owain puffed his cheeks out and held his free arm to the side in a shrug.

“Oh, what are you two looking at now?” Severa said, hoisting one of her bags higher on her shoulder as she ducked into the pen, Lucina on her heels.

“Ada’s lame,” Owain told her.

Severa pulled up short. “That’s a problem,” she said, unknowingly echoing Inigo’s earlier words.

“I know,” said Owain. “We’ve got too much stuff for me to ride double with either of you, and we can’t exactly wait around if we’re going to make it to the Mila Tree by the full moon…”

A long moment passed in which it seemed all their debating and questioning on the matter of their journey seemed to have come to an abrupt and irrevocable solution.

Finally, though, Lucina sighed. “Take Rommie.”

Owain shot her a glance, his mouth falling open slightly before he eyed Lucina’s hearty chestnut gelding, munching away on his breakfast in the corner. “...Are you sure?” he asked.

Lucina nodded. “I know you. All of you. And how much you’ll regret not going to help this Anankos fellow. However much I may personally disagree… So yes, I’m sure. Take Rommie, and hopefully Ada will be sound by the time you make it back here.”

Owain’s face broke into a grin as he hoisted one of his bags, calling over his shoulder, “My thanks, dearest cousin! Surely you will not regret your generosity!”

“Oh, I already do,” Lucina sighed.

“Come now, Romulus!” Owain continued, ignoring her. “Adventure awaits us!”

Scarcely had he spoken when Gerome made his entrance to the pen, one bag slung over his shoulder and another in his other hand.

“Oh, have you got my things? How unexpectedly kind of you,” Inigo said, shooting the wyvern rider a grin.

“What in gods’ names did you  _ pack?”  _ Gerome replied.

“Only the essentials,” Inigo told him with a wink. “Why, Gerome, don’t tell me you’re getting soft lazing around up here in the mountains.”

With a dirty look, Gerome said, “I might think it more logical for you to have such a worry yourself. I cannot help but notice you are hardly lifting a finger to help,  _ Your Highness.” _

“Now, children, play nice,” Severa said, but Inigo merely shrugged off the words.

“Oh, would you like help?” he said, exactly one moment after Gerome had hoisted the bags up on Scottie’s rump. “Sorry, I was afraid I might be insulting your manliness or something.”

“Only you need to worry about such delusions, Inigo,” Gerome replied without missing a beat. Once upon a time such words might have escalated into territory far beyond words, but as the years passed the two’s prickly relationship seemed to have mellowed into something a little less antagonistic. “But for the moment, I must bid farewell. Virion and Cherche have summoned me for a meeting in the capital tomorrow morning.”

“Safe travels, my masked compatriot!” Owain called from where he was settling his saddle on Rommie’s back.

A beat passed before Gerome replied, “And you three as well.” With that, he turned away, grasping Lucina’s hand for but a moment as he passed by.

“So,” Severa said as a long silence dragged out. “How’s Ophelia?”

“She and the boys were working on a puzzle,” Lucina said. “She’s a bit quiet.”

Sighing, Owain glanced up once more. “We have already delivered our protracted and teary goodbyes,” he said. “I don’t think she was quite keen on actually seeing me leave.”

“Understandable,” said Inigo.

Finally, Lucina clasped her hands in front of her. “Be safe, all of you,” she murmured. “I mean it.”

“Oh, c’mon, Luce, have a  _ little  _ faith,” Inigo said with a grin. “We took care of ourselves for four-something years before you decided to show back up, remember?”

“You barely survived it,” Severa drawled.

“That’s debatable,” Owain retorted.

Lucina huffed and rolled her eyes. “My words still hold true. And take good care of my horse, Owain.”

Owain nodded, urging a now fully-tacked Rommie toward the gate. “Come now, my friends!” he said. “The last leg of our journey falls upon us!”

~~~

They made it to Rosanne’s border by lunchtime, better time than any of them had expected. Under the shade of a towering tree, the trio paused in their journey, letting their mounts graze nearby. Severa had gone to fill their waterskins from a nearby stream, leaving the cousins to their own devices.

“...so here we are, with this nosy lord all up in our business,” Inigo was saying, unhooking one of his bags from Scottie’s rump as he spoke and letting it fall to the ground, “and Say’ri says—”

_ “Oof.” _

Inigo broke off, blinking absently as he stared at his fallen bag.

“Er, Inigo?” Owain said after a long moment. “Did your luggage just say ‘oof’?”

Another beat passed. “...No,” said Inigo’s luggage.

The two exchanged glances. “Uh- _ huh,”  _ Owain said, a look of resignation crossing his features. He gestured to Inigo, then to the bag. Inigo shook his head, bending down to turn open the flap.

Slowly, a blond head emerged, her eyes blinking against the sunlight. “Oh,” Ophelia said, glancing up. “Hi Daddy.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Owain said. “No, no, no. You can’t just ‘hi’ me. What do you think you’re doing here?”

Ophelia paused for a long moment before finally settling on, “Questing.”

“Questing for trouble, it looks like,” Inigo said dryly. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Owain did not rise to that bait, instead crossing his arms and lifting a brow. “You, young lady, are in big trouble.”

_ “We  _ are probably also in big trouble,” Inigo pointed out. “Since Lucina has probably torn the entire house down looking for this one.”

Owain looked up at him sharply, mouthing a silent curse in his cousin’s direction before turning his attention back to his daughter. “You can’t just…  _ stow away  _ in your uncle’s bag to come on a trip you’re not allowed on!”

Once more, Ophelia’s expression turned pitiful. “But you’re  _ leaving  _ me!” she cried. “And I won’t—” she sniffed, then sobbed, “won’t see you anymore! Just—just like Mommy!”

Immediately, all Owain’s thoughts of discipline melted away. “Oh, Ophelia,” he murmured, his lungs tightening as he knelt beside her. “Never. Never ever. I promise.”

Ophelia flung herself at him, wrapping herself up in his arms. No sooner had she done so did Severa reappear, hoisting their water.

“What in Naga’s name…?” the ginger asked, then broke off. “No. Oh, no. Oh, come  _ on.  _ Where did she come from?”

“She stowed away in my bag,” Inigo said, bending down to search through the offending luggage. A moment later, he pulled out an empty wrapper, crumbs falling from its folds. “And… ate my lunch, apparently. Hey! Owain! Your kid ate my lunch!”

“Growing heroines require sustenance, my dear cousin,” Owain told him absently.

Severa shook her head. “Well, we’ve got to bring her  _ back.” _

“We haven’t got the time, do we?” Inigo pointed out.

After a moment, Severa sighed. “No, I suppose not. Oh, gawds, I can’t believe this.”

Sitting back on his heels, Inigo said, “There’s another town like an hour from here, isn’t there? We can send word back to Lucina that Ophelia hasn’t been eaten by a wyvern.” He let out a short laugh. “Well, Owain, guess you got your wish.”

“I’m not sure this is  _ quite  _ what I wished,” Owain said, finally pulling away from a slowly-quieting Ophelia. “But I suppose our course is set now, indeed.”

Before any of them could continue, Inigo shot another odd look into his bag. “Hang on,” he said, reaching out and pulling forth the form of a blade, sheathed in leather with the hilt wrapped in cloth.  _ “Just in case,”  _ he said, apparently reading from the note tied to the end.

A moment later, he loosed the cloth and a delighted crow escaped him.

“Falchion, my old friend!” he cried, holding the divine blade aloft. “Lucina must have slipped it to me. Ha, okay, this trip just got a hundred times better.”

“Well, as I said, the breadknife may not do you much good,” Owain said loftily.

“Oh, shut up,” Inigo said, shifting to buckle Falchion to his hip. He then glanced at Severa, quirking a brow in her direction. “What? What are you looking at?”

“Well, first Ophelia, now Falchion?” she replied, gesturing to his bag. “I’m just waiting to see if you pull a wyvern out of there next.”


	6. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summons from a king and a summons from a god.

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—April 29, 635**

After an uneventful journey from Diabola, Leo hardly had time to change out of his traveling clothes before his father summoned him. Dressed as befitting his station, with a midnight black cloak spilling over his shoulders, he strode through the familiar halls of Castle Krakenburg.

His footsteps echoed off the high, cold stone walls as he went, and the number of servants who quickly parted the way for him diminished as he neared his father’s throne room. Leo fought back the wave of anxiety that threatened him as he grew closer—there was hardly a time he could remember when anything  _ good  _ had happened at the foot of his father’s throne; it was hardly a surprise that he held such a conditioned response to the mere pathway.

The edge of his fears eased, though, as he rounded the next to last corner, two familiar figures looking up at his approach. “Leo,” said Xander, the crown prince’s tone warm despite his stoic expression.

“Little brother,” Camilla said, a more overt smile on her face as she took one, two steps towards Leo, then paused as a servant went bustling past with his head down. Camilla’s arms, slightly raised as though she’d planned on embracing Leo, fell back to her sides.

“Xander. Camilla,” Leo said in an equally neutral tone. To some extent, it was as though Krakenburg’s walls bore witness to them, and the ease which their family displayed outside its walls could never quite be replicated inside them, even in the privacy of their own rooms. Public places were only doubly so—affection was a risky thing when its displays only painted blazing targets to the rest of court on its recipients.

The Northern Fortress was the only place they’d ever truly felt like the family they ought to be, and Leo shut that thought down as quickly as it had crossed his mind.

“You had a safe journey, I trust?” Xander said, gesturing down the remaining hallway.

“I did,” Leo said, taking his elder brother’s unspoken invitation to lead the way. “Though I fear the trip in its entirety was all but fruitless.”

“You had no luck studying the Faceless, either?” Camilla asked, her tone faintly surprised.

Leo shook his head. “We never found any at all.”

Xander pulled up slightly short. “Truly?” he asked. “Iago and I were all but drowning in them when I was there.”

“So you said,” Leo replied, then paused to take in a breath as they reached the tall, heavy doors to the throne room.

“Leo,” Camilla said in a low voice, causing him to glance back at her. She gestured to his shoulder. “Your cloak.”

Leo blinked, then glanced down to find the inside seam of said cloak staring innocently up at him. He didn’t bother to do any more than let out an exaggerated sigh, quickly reaching for the clasp to turn the long length of fabric the correct way around. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Of course,” Camilla said, the faintest smirk on her features and a bubble of laughter in her words.

Leo steeled himself one final time before raising his voice. “Father, I’ve returned,” he called to the door.

A painfully long moment passed before King Garon answered. “You may enter.”

The ornate doors swung open with scarcely a push from Leo, leaving him free to tread down the long length of carpet that led to his father’s throne. Xander and Camilla flanked him silently—usually, decorum would have dictated Xander ought to lead, but since the summons had originally been Leo’s, the swapped formation was not improper.

At least Elise usually stayed out of such political matters, the second prince thought as he knelt at the steps of the throne.

Another terrible pause came over them before Garon finally spoke. “I summoned you from Diabola nearly two weeks ago,” the king said flatly.

“My apologies, Father,” Leo replied, still with his head bowed. “I fear your letter must have met its end before reaching me. I was unaware of your orders until Iago informed me.”

The lie was practiced enough to come without a hitch, but Leo still felt the slightest edge of nauseous fear before his father answered with a low “Hmph. I see. You may rise.”

Leo straightened, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Duke Wilhelm wished me to relay his thanks for your cooperation during recent matters,” he offered.

“Yes,” said Garon absently. “But tell me of the perished company you found.”

Leo swallowed. “You received my full report,” he said. “I held nothing back. The group consisted of fourteen Hoshidans, all deceased.”

“And their location?” Garon prodded.

“Five hours west-northwest of the nearest Canyon outpost, according to His Grace. Which had reported no such activity.”

“Unless they had been there for quite some time,” Xander added. “We did hear some reports of that nature during the period Leo and I were in Cheve.”

Leo winced at the reminder. The thought had crossed his mind, of course, but he doubted a Hoshidan company would have lasted through nearly four months of Nohrian winter.

“I see,” said Garon. “And there was nothing else of note?”

“No, Father,” said Leo.

Garon seemed to ponder a moment more before another grunt came from his lips. “Very well. You’re dismissed.”

Leo paused for a moment, weighing his words before he ventured, “Permission to return to Diabola to continue my other investigations there?”

“Denied.”

Leo winced again.

“Duke Wilhelm will have to manage on his own for the moment,” Garon continued. Then, in a sharper tone, “You’re  _ dismissed.” _

Leo gave another, more hurried bow, eyes fixed forward so as not to catch his elder siblings in his peripherals, then headed for the door once more.

None of the three spoke until they were several hallways away from the throne room. “Well,” said Camilla. “That went well.”

“As can be expected,” Leo said dryly, then shot a look at his brother. “Xander?”

Xander shook his head. “He is worried about this development,” he said. “As we all should be. It could mean war on the horizon.”

“It could,” Camilla said. “But let’s not worry about that for now. Take those frowns off your faces, both of you.” When neither seemed inclined to oblige her, she sighed. “Come. Now that Leo’s back, we ought to go visit Corrin, shouldn’t we? It’s been a while since we’ve all been to visit her.” She paused. “Well, besides…”

“It’s been a while since we’ve all been to visit her whilst in good health,” Leo quickly interjected, hoping his face didn’t betray the panic that went through him at such a thought. Diabola had been a more than welcome distraction from the developments of his last visit to the fortress.

“Indeed,” said Xander. “I will inform my—”

He broke off.

“Silas,” he finally finished. “I will speak with Silas about such a trip.”

With that, he turned on his heel.

A long moment passed. “Oh, Xander,” Camilla murmured. She shook her head. “I will have Beruka ready my things as well, though. Good evening, Leo.”

“Good evening,” the younger prince echoed, watching as she, too, strode away. Finally, he shook his head and suppressed a shudder.

_ Gods help me. _

~~~

**The Mila Tree—April 30, 1019**

“Well,” Inigo said, staring up at the boughs of the Mila Tree. “We’re here.”

“Indeed,” Owain murmured over top of the gentle whisper of leaves waving lightly in the wind.

All of them fell silent. Even Ophelia, perched behind her father, seemed too impressed at the sight of the great tree to speak.

Inigo, meanwhile, only found himself all but flooded with the memories of the last time he’d been to this place. He hadn’t set foot there since the battle he’d been in during the early days of the Valm War, but that brief period of time had been eventful enough to remain forever burned into his mind.

That battle had been where Brady and Cynthia had reunited with them for the first time in the past; it had also been where Owain had almost completely shattered his arm, which had eventually led to his early dabblings in magic—which had involved spending a great deal of time with Robin. Inigo wasn’t sure the two would have even gotten together if it hadn’t been for that period, and he doubted his cousin ever would have budged from the swordplay he now only made use of one battle out of three.

It had also been, Inigo thought with a muted sigh, one of the first times he had had an open, earnest conversation with the woman who would one day be his wife.

“I don’t see him,” Severa said flatly, steering Studlee around the tree’s roots. “I’m gonna give someone a piece of my mind if he doesn’t show up.”

“And by someone you mean us, right?” Inigo said with a cheeky grin. “Then again, he did say the  _ night  _ of the full moon, didn’t he?” He gave a pointed glance to where the sun still hung in the sky, perhaps an hour or two from dipping below the horizon. “Guess we’ll just have to wait.”

“Yeah,” Severa finally sighed, then shot a glance sideways. “Owain? You in there?”

“Do you guys remember where the battle was?” he asked softly, his head cocked to one side. “I’m trying to figure out…” He trailed off, clearing his throat.

A beat passed before Severa answered with a curt wave of her hand. “Yeah. C’mon. This way.”

~~~

“And if I remember correctly, we made camp just about…”

Severa broke off as they rounded one of the great roots, their horses’ hooves splashing through a stream. Before them a clearing opened up—the same clearing they’d set up camp in so long ago.

“...here,” she finished under her breath.

In the center of the clearing, a lone figure turned, his appearance identical to the last time they’d seen him—right down to the hooded brown cloak pulled low over his eyes.

“You came,” Anankos whispered, his voice reverent and trembling.

“Well,” Inigo said, forcibly keeping his tone light. “Last we met was all kinds of mysterious. How could we refuse?”

Anankos strode toward them, his arms open. “I am sorry for keeping you in the dark,” he said.

“Meh,” said Severa. “Water under the bridge now. But there’s one thing I still don’t understand… why did we have to traipse over half the continent to get more info? You realize not everyone would be able to manage that, right?”

Anankos chuckled. “I am sorry about that too. Still, you all came nonetheless.”

“I suppose being heroes is our birthright,” Owain said. “Or maybe we crave the thrill of conquest… the seduction of revelation. No, I think it’s just that we can’t bear to abandon someone in need. But if we find out you’re taking advantage of our heroic nature… I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”

_ “Big  _ consequences,” Ophelia piped up, peering around Owain.

Anankos pulled up short at the sight of her. “You brought…” he murmured, then trailed off. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I was not clear on the nature of what you would be facing…”

“No,” Inigo said, his voice taking on a hard edge. “You really weren’t.”

Anankos sighed and shook his head. “I have no intention of deceiving you or taking advantage of your generosity,” he said. “As heroes who defeated the Fell Dragon Grima, you deserve far better.”

Inigo’s tone grew even more wary. “Um, did we tell you about that? I don’t recall telling you about that.”

“Again, I must apologize. Knowing you three come from a desolate future… it pains me to involve you in another war.”

Anankos’s cryptic words only seemed to further confirm the nagging suspicions Inigo had held the entire journey. “You even know we’re from the future? Just who are you, Mr. Anankos?”

“I…” he began, only for Severa to cut him off.

“Go on, spit it out already!”

“Very well,” said Anankos. “I will give you an overview now, but in order to explain fully, I must bring you elsewhere. But before we can journey there… there is something else I must do, for your own protection. Do you agree?”

The three exchanged glances. “Just how dangerous is this ‘protection’?” Owain asked.

“I vow that it will not harm you.”

A moment passed. “Okay,” said Severa. “Then do it.”

There was a blast of light and a rush of cold, a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Above the high, whistling winds and the chirping birds, though, sounded the roar of some distant wyvern.

Or perhaps some distant dragon.

When the sensation faded, Inigo had to gasp in a breath and shake his head to clear it. His limbs tingled, buzzing with energy, but his right eye ached like it had taken a blunt blow.

“Wh… what just happened?” Severa demanded, glancing between her two companions. As she did, her jaw dropped; a moment later she pulled one twintail over her shoulder. “Why did you change the color of my hair?” she demanded.

Though it took Inigo a moment to pick out in the fading sunlight, upon further examination Severa’s hair  _ had  _ changed—from the bright ginger of her candy-loving father into a deeper, darker red more reminiscent of her mother. Owain’s, too, had gone to a slightly brighter shade, perhaps closer to what Robin’s had once been rather than that of Lissa. Ophelia’s didn’t seem to have changed, but—

“Oh, come on,  _ really?”  _ Inigo sighed, pulling his own fringe into view.  _ “Gray?  _ I’m only twenty-four! Can I have a do-over?”

Before Anankos could answer the complaint, Owain spoke in a far more wary tone, his gaze fixed on the spot above his right elbow. “Um. My Brand is gone.”

Inigo shot him a sharp look. Ophelia’s Brand hadn’t yet surfaced—provided it ever would, considering her grandmother’s never had—but…

“What about mine?” he asked, trying to ignore the quickly fading ache in his eye.

Severa stared at him for a moment, having to squint for the distance between them, then said, “Yup, yours too.”

“I thought it wise to alter your appearances before we depart for our destination,” Anankos interjected before Inigo could dwell too much on those implications. “Any characteristics that could hint at your true lineages must be kept hidden. The least I can do is lessen the burden you three shall endure for taking on this task.” He sighed. “I’m afraid you must also take on pseudonyms. The magic with which I have altered appearances is tied to your names—should you reveal your true titles to those you will meet on this mission, the spell I have cast will break, and the blessings I have bestowed on you will fade.”

“New names?” Owain asked. “You’re joking!”

“I am not,” Anankos said. “I’m afraid abandoning your real names is a necessary precaution. You may speak them among yourselves, but that is all.”

“So basically we must hide our true identities in case the worst happens,” Owain mused. “A shadowy warrior of darkness living under a false identity—I could get used to that!” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Er, but what about…?” He gestured to Ophelia.

Anankos shook his head. “There is little I can do to shield her, I’m afraid. I will have to leave that caution up to you.”

“Um, Mr. Anankos,” Inigo interjected. “Since you’re having us change our names and appearances… that means this task you’re asking of us is incredibly difficult and dangerous. Correct?”

“You are correct. I need you three to travel elsewhere and fight for me. It is a world where fates intertwine. A world of choices and consequences. I truly hope the fates are kind to you there, because if they are not… then death awaits you all.”

Inigo sucked in a breath, wishing his premonitions from their journey hadn’t come  _ quite  _ as true as it seemed they had.

“But we finally achieved peace here!” Severa said in no uncertain terms. “I can’t go  _ dying  _ before I’ve had time to enjoy it!”

“She’s got a point,” said Owain. “Dark missions are my specialty, but risking my life again…”

“I see,” said Anankos, his tone defeated. “I cannot say your reluctance is unexpected. I will not force any of you to go. You have every right to refuse my request. Say the word, and I will—”

“Wait,” Inigo said, the words dropping from his lips before he had any time to process them. “Who said anything about refusing?”

“Yeah, I never said I wouldn’t go,” Severa put in. “It’s just a shame, is all.”

Owain nodded sharply. “Though I doubt there’s much reward in it for us, I will lend you my unholy strength!”

Anankos tilted his head. “You… agree to my request? I must ask… Why?”

Inigo swung from his saddle, feeling as though he ought to be face-to-face with the man before he delivered his next words—even if he still couldn’t actually see Anankos’s face. “They’re your people, aren’t they?” he said softly. “And you love them. Enough to come begging three strangers for help. Believe me,” he added, “if I had had that choice when I was in your shoes, I would have taken it.”

A long moment passed. “You cut a fine prince, Inigo,” Anankos finally told him. “And, I must believe, an even finer Exalt.”

Inigo felt his face flush as he waved a hand and took an absent step back toward Scottie. “Well, I don’t know if I’d go  _ that  _ far,” he replied dryly. Before he could further deflect the topic, though, Anankos reached a hand toward him.

“Inigo, get down!”

Those words were so ingrained in Inigo’s psyche that he didn’t have to think before he reacted—he was already on the ground before he’d even fully registered what had been said. A ghostly, sharp  _ something  _ sliced through where he’d just been, hardly visible but for an odd shimmering in the air distorting the immediate foreground. “What the—” he began, already scrambling back to his feet with Falchion drawn.

“No!” Anankos cried. “This cannot be! They must have caught wind of my plans…”

“What are those things?” Owain demanded, tome flying open in his hands. “Zombies? Risen?”

“I don’t think so,” Inigo said, glancing around. Some sense told him there were more of these strange foes around, even if his eyes couldn’t quite pick up on them. As he looked, he could see more of the shimmering distortion, gradually sharpening into something akin to flickering violet flames. “I know it’s been a few years, my friend, but I do seem to remember being able to  _ see  _ Risen.”

“I’m afraid the fault is mine,” said Anankos. “Listen carefully. Those warriors are from another world. They followed me here. I didn’t want to affect this world any more than necessary, but—”

“What kind of place do you live in if there are creepy jerks like these around?” Severa demanded, hopping from Studlee and moving to cover Inigo. It would serve Owain well to stay on horseback, where he could attack from a distance and keep Ophelia with him, but the two melee fighters would stand a better chance on their own two feet.

“I… can’t tell you that,” said Anankos. “Not yet.”

“Even if you could, we don’t have the time,” Owain said curtly. He’d shifted Ophelia to sit in front of him, likely to better keep an eye and a hold on her. “I don’t care who they are—we can’t let them harm our world!”

“He’s right,” Inigo said, tracking the violet flames in his peripherals. Twenty foes? Maybe thirty? “We can discuss this over a nice cup of tea later.” He paused, then shot Anankos a wild glance. “Hang on, did you say another  _ world?” _

He didn’t hear Anankos if he answered, because at that moment a ghostly spear came flying at his head.

Inigo ducked, Falchion already slicing through the air as he came up out of it. Some part of him had half a second to panic—without his Brand, would Falchion still do him any good?—but such a worry was quickly erased as the divine blade hit home with as much force as the last time he’d laid hands on it.

Their translucent foes still  _ felt  _ solid, he realized as he wrenched Falchion free, and such a discovery felt almost uncanny. He spun to the next and found Severa already in the gap, pushing forward toward the next wave.

“When this is over,” she shouted to Anankos as another enemy fell to a blast of Elthunder from Owain, “you better answer all of our questions. And I mean  _ all!” _

~~~

As suddenly as their foes had appeared, they were gone.

Inigo swiped a hand over his brow, eyes still keen on their surroundings but landing on none of the tell-tale shimmers. He still bounced a little from foot to foot, his veins buzzing despite the fact that he ought to be  _ exhausted  _ with how long it had been since he’d last been in a battle.

Yet, despite his newly grayed hair, he wasn’t sure any battle had ever left him feeling more  _ alive  _ in the aftermath.

“All right, mister,” Severa said, sheathing her sword and crossing her arms as they made their way over to Anankos once more. “Start talking. Who were those freaks anyway? And who, may I ask, are  _ you?” _

“I will tell you all you wish to know, Severa,” said Anankos. “However… I cannot answer your questions until we reach my kingdom.”

“Huh? Why?”

“If I tell you all I know here, I shall vanish from this world. There is a curse that protects the information you seek.”

“A curse?” Inigo asked, having to fight to keep himself remotely still. Gods, what was  _ wrong  _ with him? Sure, the buzz felt great, but had he really been cooped up for so long that a skirmish like this left him bouncing off the nonexistent walls?

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Fine,” Owain said, one arm absently looped around Ophelia. “If that’s how it is, then let’s get moving. We won’t know what we’re dealing with until we have all the details.”

“I am truly sorry for the secrecy,” Anankos said, holding his arms out. “As an apology, allow me to reward you three in advance.” He paused, his tone taking on an oddly dreamy tone. “What sorts of things do humans like… longevity? Eternal beauty? Incomparable wealth?”

_ “Huh?”  _ Owain said.  _ “Longevity?” _

“Eternal beauty?” Inigo added. “How can you say that with a straight face?”

“Why is that making you  _ blush,  _ Inigo?”

“Quiet, Owain, you’re blushing too!” Inigo shot back.

“You two are totally missing the point!” Severa snapped. “Those ‘rewards’ are impossible! Longevity? Incomparable wealth? Who do you think you are—some kind of god or something?”

“Well… I have been called one in the past,” Anankos replied, the edge of a smirk just barely visible under his hood.

A long silence dragged out.

“Huh?” Inigo said. “I… wait. Okay then.” He sighed and shook his head.  _ Really?  _ “But if you have that kind of power, why do you need our help?”

“That’s…” Anankos began, then trailed off.

“He probably can’t say because of that weird curse thing,” Severa said after a long moment. “All right. Give us the goods, and let’s get out of here.”

“I can’t…” Inigo began again. “I can’t wrap my head around this. I mean, longevity sounds nice, but it’ll be a long time until we can appreciate it.”

“If there’s something else you desire, you have only to name it.”

Inigo’s heart lurched in his chest, the words very nearly rising to his lips as soon as he thought them. Because there  _ was  _ something else he so very much desired, something that insofar had been maddeningly out of his reach, and perhaps at this point a god’s intervention was the only way he and Say’ri ever  _ would  _ have children—

_ Say’ri. _

The thought pulled him up short, echoes of  _ another world  _ in his head, but he scarcely had time to reconcile the two before his cousin spoke in a soft, aching tone.

“Actually… just out of curiosity…” Owain whispered. “Can you bring people back to life? Or is that too much to ask for?”

Inigo blew out a quiet breath, suddenly acutely aware of just how selfish his own wish had been. He’d happily forgo his own gift—and likely Severa would as well—if there was any way this pleading god could bring Robin back.

After a moment, though, Anankos shook his head. “I am truly sorry,” he said in a low tone. “It is not possible to bring the dead back to life. Such a thing is beyond even my power.”

Owain sighed and glanced away. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“Then…” Inigo began, this time giving voice to his thought without hesitation. “What about restoring a world that’s been destroyed?”

Anankos paused. “What do you mean?”

“I meant what I said earlier,” said Inigo. “About… if I’d had your choice, I would have taken it. But I didn’t have that choice. Our original timeline… it still exists, doesn’t it? Out there, somewhere… and I know it’s barren,” he quickly added. “But ever since I came back, I could only think… that they were my people, and I was their Exalt—their  _ last  _ Exalt—and I couldn’t protect them.” He looked away for a moment before turning back. “At least if it was filled with flowers and plants again… well, perhaps it could be some small atonement for that.”

A long moment passed before Severa said in a soft tone, “That’s not a bad idea. And I want gravestones too. Gravestones for every person who died in that world. Nice ones.”

“A proper memorial for all those who were lost…” Owain murmured. “Even if we could never see it with our own eyes… At least we’d know we did something to improve the world we came from as well as this one.”

“Is that really all you want?” Anankos asked. “That means you’ll be risking your lives for a reward you may never see. You’ll have no way of knowing I even did what you asked.”

“That’s true,” Inigo said. “But it’s what I want.”

“Me too,” said Severa.

“And me as well,” added Owain.

“Hmm… very well. I shall restore the earth of your hopeless future. The Fell Dragon who abides there has returned to his slumber… and with his destruction accomplished, I believe he may never truly awake again. So I shall create gravestones for all who died there. As a keeper of ancient knowledge… As ruler of the world when it began… With my power, pure and righteous, I bless the world of these warriors…”

A moment passed.

“It is done,” Anankos said. “That land is blossoming once more. I have granted your request.”

“...Thank you,” Inigo said.

“You are welcome… huh?”

“What’s wrong?” Owain asked.

“I heard… voices,” the god admitted. “When I blessed your world… I sensed the presence of a certain tactician. I set up a grave for that person and those they were closest to. Though their bodies are long gone, I felt it was the right thing to do. And just now… I heard their voices.”

“That could only be…” Severa began.

“Yes, it is most certainly the ones you are thinking of.”

Inigo rubbed the back of his neck. “So, um… what did they say?”

“‘Thank you,’” Anankos whispered. “Over and over again. With joy… and with laughter. They also said ‘safe travels.’ And one more thing… ‘We’re always watching over you, no matter where you are.’”

“I…” Inigo began, then found whatever he planned on saying ended up stuck on the lump in his throat. Judging by the watery expressions of his two companions, he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

He thought of his parents—the ones here, who he loved, but also the ones he hadn’t seen since he was nine years old, the ones who had both given their lives to protect him.

He abruptly found he couldn’t quite see straight.

“Before we journey to my kingdom,” Anankos finally said in a low tone, “I wish to give you something.” He reached out to each of them in turn, passing over something small and round, ending with Ophelia.

Ophelia herself gave a very satisfying gasp when she received hers. “Is it a holy moonstone?” she asked.

“Not exactly, little one,” Anankos said. “Listen well. When your work is done, if you wish to return to your true home… use this, and you may do so.”

Inigo glanced down at the tiny crystal in his palm. “What?”

“That crystal has the power to transport you through space and time,” Anankos explained. “After you complete your mission, you can use it to return here. Or, if you truly desire it, you can return to your own time and world.” He paused. “However, know that it can only be used once.”

“So if we decide to return to the future,” Severa began, “we can never come back here again?”

“Yes,” said Anankos. “It is taboo for humans to travel through time as it is. Even I do not have the power to break this rule any more than I already have. That the god of this world had the power to transport so many of you… leaves me in awe.”

“I never thought we’d ever be able to go back…” Owain murmured. “But…”

“That would mean leaving everyone and everything here,” Inigo quickly pointed out, before either of his friends descended into such fantasies. “We couldn’t… I have duties here, you know.”

“But we could visit our parents’ graves…” Severa said. “Leave flowers for them…”

“And what about the parents we have here?” Inigo shot back.

“You need not make your decision now,” Anankos interjected. “Consider your options carefully. You may wait to decide until after you complete your mission in my world.”

A beat passed. “Yes,” Owain finally said. “Let’s save the world. Again. As many times as it takes!”

Inigo shot his cousin an odd look, but it was Severa who spoke. “What are you on about, Owain? This isn’t the time for your theatrics!”

Owain merely shook his head. “All we need to think about right now is helping our friend here. There’s no point worrying about our future just yet, right? We have a mission to complete first. Then we can decide what to do. After all, are we not the old trio of legend, come through time to save the world once already? We’ll have plenty of time to think it over.”

Inigo shook his head once more, mutely torn between agreeing with his cousin and protesting once more. Before he could come up with any words, though, Anankos spoke again.

“If you are still agreed, I shall begin the process of transporting us to my world. It may take some time, if you still require a discussion.”

“Sounds good,” Severa said, absently. “Just call us when you’re ready.” With that, she gave a sharp gesture of her head to a moss-covered alcove not far away.

“I just…” Inigo began as soon as they reached the spot, then trailed off when he realized he had no idea how to finish that sentence. After a moment, he broke off with a sigh. “He really needs our help, doesn’t he?”

“Indeed, so it seems,” Owain replied, having swung from Rommie’s back but still with one hand raised to keep Ophelia steady.

Still unable to articulate his reservations, Inigo finally shook his head. “All right. Well, I guess we ought to at least go to his kingdom and get the full story. We can decide what we want to do from there.”

“Well, we’ve got to figure out our names first, don’t we?” Severa said. “Before we go meeting up with anyone.”

“Good point,” said Owain. “D’you think Ophelia will be all right to stay as she is?”

“Ophelia Dusk!” Ophelia interjected.

“Ophelia Dusk?” Owain asked, tilting his head as though it was the first time he’d heard the title. At his daughter’s enthused nod, he broke into a grin. “Oh, an  _ excellent  _ sobriquet, tiny heroine. Now, we can’t go changing that, can we?”

“Well, since Mr. Anankos didn’t change her appearance or anything, she’s probably fine,” Inigo cut in. “I think.”

Severa, meanwhile, snapped her fingers. “What was it you two went by when we first came back? Before we joined up with the Shepherds? Odin and…?”

“Laslow,” Inigo replied with a sigh.

“‘Twas not one of your finer ideas, my friend,” Owain said. “Though  _ I  _ would be quite pleased to resume the persona of Odin Dark once more…”

“I was on the spot, okay? And… yeah, I guess I really can’t think of anything better,” Inigo replied. “What about you, Sev?”

Severa tossed one twintail over her shoulder. “Well, it’s gotta be something  _ close,  _ so that when you two inevitably mess it up you can at least save yourselves without  _ too  _ much suspicion.” She paused, chewing on her lip, then finally settled on, “Selena.”

“Thought you were going to say  _ Serena  _ for a second,” Inigo said, referring to Severa’s younger counterpart.

“Pfft, as if,” Severa replied. “You two wouldn’t want to go by ‘Azur’ and ‘Tristan,’ would you?”

“As heroically accomplished as the young Tristan will surely one day be, I have no need to add to such a list by assuming his title,” said Owain. “Odin will suit me fine.”

A long moment passed before Inigo spoke once more. “Well… now I guess we wait.”


	7. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the adventure truly begins.

**Sulyana Canyon (Canyon of the Sun), V____—April 30, 635**

It was nothing like when they’d come back in time.

Inigo hadn’t realized he was expecting it to be until it suddenly wasn’t. Their return to the past had been all but instantaneous—between one breath and the next, he’d gone from high-tailing it from Risen to falling out of the sky into an entirely different pack of Risen. If he hadn’t popped out of midair, he wasn’t sure he would have noticed the change at all.

This journey, however, would have been impossible not to notice. It felt as though he were being stretched and squeezed all at once, his body being pulled in a hundred different directions without his moving at all.

He still ended up being spat out on the ground, though.

“There,” came Anankos’s voice from somewhere above. Perhaps one of the benefits of godhood was being less affected by such modes of travel, Inigo thought wryly. “We have arrived. Welcome to the great kingdom of Valla, young warriors.”

A moment later, Owain’s voice answered. “Whoa! Why are those rocks floating?”

That was enough to get Inigo coordinated enough for a look himself, though his brain took a moment to make any sense of what he was seeing. “That lake… is upside down. That’s, um, different.” He pulled himself more upright, arms wrapped loosely around his knees as he craned his neck to look further.

This was by _far_ the strangest looking place he’d ever been.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, not entirely sure if he expected an answer. A low whicker sounded from behind them and he glanced back to see Rommie, Scottie, and Studlee, looking none the worse for wear from their trip and, if anything, rather bored.

Anankos chuckled. “I am not surprised you find my home to be a bit strange.”

Severa got to her feet, her expression as transfixed as Inigo’s had to be. “Why is it so quiet?” she finally asked, her own voice little more than a whisper.

Anankos sobered, his own voice equally soft. “Hardly anything dwelling here is alive anymore. Vallite soldiers are the only ones that roam around outdoors.”

“Is that what those things were that followed you to our world?” Owain asked. He was still settled on the rolling grass, hands resting on Ophelia’s shoulders and looking as though he was checking her over for bumps and bruises.

“Yes,” said Anankos. “The soldiers of this kingdom are reanimated puppets of the dead.”

“So they _are_ zombies!” Owain cried, in the same triumphant tone Robin had once used upon solving a particularly difficult puzzle. He glanced up from Ophelia a moment later, though, a sheepish expression on his face. “I mean… I’m sorry, that was tactless.”

“No need to apologize,” Anankos said. “I’m afraid that’s not far from the truth. This was once a prosperous kingdom… now it’s nothing more than a wasteland.”

“Mr. Anankos, if I may be so bold,” Inigo ventured, finally getting to his feet. “If what you say is true… then why would you come to us for help? If your kingdom is already in such poor shape… like our timeline was… then what can we do to help? Isn’t it too late?”

“Yes,” said Anankos. “For this place, I fear it is. But… look to your left.”

The trio did so. “...What, at those two canyons?” Inigo asked, peering at the odd formation dropping into the abyss below.

“Yes,” said Anankos. “Should you descend those canyons, at the bottom—or the top, by another way of thinking—you will find yourself at another. In another place—too near to here to be another world, but very separate from this kingdom—there is a landmark known to those who live there as the Bottomless Canyon. Here in Valla, the eastern canyon is known as Sulyana Canyon, or the Canyon of the Sun. It leads to the side of the Bottomless Canyon owned by the kingdom of Hoshido. The western canyon is known as Lunifrus Canyon, or the Canyon of the Moon, and it leads to the kingdom of Nohr.”

“And… are those kingdoms like this?” Severa asked, gesturing around them.

Anankos shook his head. “They are prosperous kingdoms, filled with the living yet.”

“But if the Vallite soldiers invade Nohr and Hoshido…” Owain began.

“Indeed,” said Anankos.

“How did Valla end up like this, though?” Inigo asked.

Anankos sighed. “To properly answer your question, I must first tell you a story about a dragon.”

“A dragon,” Inigo repeated, in a tone soft with resignation.

“Yes. It’s the tale of the dragon that helped build this kingdom. This dragon loved humans with all his heart. So he gave them knowledge and longevity. He even chose to live among them. He was especially close with a long line of great kings, whom he spent much time with. But hundreds of years ago, the dragon realized something terrible. His ancient animal instincts were beginning to invade his thoughts. Though he adored his kingdom, he also felt an intense desire to destroy it. Each day, those feelings grew stronger, and his control over them began to wane.”

It brought to mind their manakete friend Nah, and it seemed Inigo wasn’t the only one to make that connection. “That sounds familiar,” said Severa. “A friend of ours can turn into a dragon as well. She said sometimes she gets an incredible urge to rampage a bit. Is that what you mean?”

Anankos hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps it was something very similar to that. But as the dragon had tremendous power, those urges were also tremendous. He knew someday those urges would drive him mad, and the thought terrorized him. That is why he left an ancient and powerful song with the Vallite king of the time.”

“A song?” Inigo asked. “What would that do?”

“Singing the song weakened the power and destructive urges of the dragon,” said Anankos.

“So… kind of like the opposite of my mother’s magic,” Inigo mused. “Isn’t it?”

“Very much so,” said Anankos; then, with the same little smirk as when he’d told them he was a god, he added, “And your own.”

Inigo blinked. “My own… what?” he asked. A moment later, he shook his head. If Anankos meant he’d technically inherited Olivia’s dancer magic, then perhaps the god hadn’t realized Inigo was probably fifteen years too late to learn it. He’d tried studying with her again on their odd trips to Ylisse after Grima’s defeat, after all, and it had come to naught.

“However,” Anankos continued, as if he’d never interrupted himself. “Only those with the same ancient blood could unlock the song’s power. That alone was not enough, as a fragment of his dragonstone was also required. To ensure the world’s safety, the dragon increased his blessings of power over time. He bestowed this gift upon each generation of the royal family, and them alone. He did so hoping one day, when the time came, they might be able to stop him. Sadly, the final king in that royal line was killed before the song could be sung.”

“Does that mean…” Owain ventured. “Did the dragon…?

“Yes. It all started with a single act of rage. The dragon could not contain himself and obliterated an entire forest. Fortunately, no one was killed, but the humans still cursed the dragon for the destruction. Believing he had grown dangerous and murderous, they tried to kill him. And that is when the dragon lost himself to a most unfortunate thought…” Anankos paused, his tone growing weary. “That humans were loathsome things. It was he who had blessed them with such power and prosperity. To turn on their benefactor, their god, and try to destroy the hand that fed… He felt it could only mean one thing.”

“Gods,” Owain said.

“The dragon went into isolation, locking himself away in a remote mountain cave. He spent his days detesting mankind and cursing their very existence.”

Inigo realized, as the trio exchanged glances, that the moment ‘dragon’ had spilled past the god’s lips they’d all expected another Grima.

This was not another Grima.

“I feel sorry for him,” Severa finally said. “I mean, it’s not like he’s exactly got the moral high ground or anything, but still… it’s an awful situation.”

Anankos shook his head. “You are kind souls to think that. In truth, not everyone had lost faith in the dragon. The king and family… they continued to believe in him. They visited him in his isolation countless times and tried to salvage his mind. They tried explaining things to the people as well, but it was no use. The dragon simply wasn’t strong enough to believe in humans anymore. In a moment of weakness and madness, he attacked his one true friend…”

“No…” said Inigo.

“Killing his friend, the king, was the last straw. Madness overcame him. Now alone in his insanity, he began to destroy the kingdom he once loved. But before this, in a final moment of clarity and desperation, he tore out his soul. That soul took on the form of a human and began to think and act on its own.” Anankos paused and sighed. “That soul… stands before you know.”

 _“What?”_ Severa cried.

“Are you serious?” Owain added.

Anankos nodded.

“So that means you’re the dragon who made this land flourish,” Inigo said softly. “And also the one who destroyed it.”

“It is so,” Anankos said in a low tone. “The desolation you see is my fault for not being able to suppress my rage. I grew to detest even the people who I cared for most and who cared for me. I could not believe the king when he said he trusted me still. Everything that happened is because I was weak. And now my entire kingdom is…” He broke off with a sharp, almost watery inhale.

“Mr. Anankos…” Inigo began.

“I am sorry. Please give me a moment to compose myself. Now is not the time for sorrow. I must finish telling you my story.” He paused to take another breath, and when he spoke again his voice was far more level. “After breaking free from my former body, I lost all of my memories. I wandered aimlessly for an indeterminable time, lost in shadows. The one who saved me was a distant cousin Vallite queen, Mikoto…” He trailed off. “Well, she is called Mikoto now. I granted her the same blessings I gave you, and her true name… is better left unspoken.” He shook his head. “Over time, she and I fell in love. Eventually, she gave birth to our child.”

“Whoa!” Owain said, his head snapping up toward Anankos from where he was still seated by Ophelia. “Back up! You have a kid?”

“Come on, now, Owain, if you could reproduce then I’m sure our friend here could too,” Inigo said.

Owain shot him a cross look, but didn’t have the chance to respond before Anankos spoke again. “I do. She has never known me, nor called me her father though. Just before Valla fell into ruin, I finally regained my memories. I told Mikoto everything and did all I could to help her escape this kingdom. She took our daughter and left, along with her cousin, Arete, and her cousin’s little girl. That was the last time I saw her… still a tiny, helpless babe. She cannot possibly remember me.”

“But wouldn’t Mikoto have told her about you?” Severa asked.

“No. I asked Mikoto to never speak of me to her.” Anankos sighed. “Consider what knowledge like that would do to a child’s mind. Knowing your father is to blame for destroying an entire kingdom… I did not wish to burden her with the sins of my past.”

A long moment passed before Inigo asked, “Do you ever regret it? Wouldn’t you…” He paused. “Wouldn’t you like to hear her call you her father one day?”

“I’d be lying if I said I did not wish for it every day,” Anankos admitted. “But some truths are better left unspoken.” He shook his head. “I fear we have strayed off topic again. When I helped those four escape, the dragon sensed my existence. For years, it has been only good fortune that has enabled me to avoid his wrath. When my powers of foresight returned, I saw a distant world… One where brave warriors defeated a fell dragon. It gave me hope… and I decided to try bringing those warriors to my world.”

“So that’s why you contacted us,” Owain said.

Anankos nodded. “Now that you have heard my tale, you must listen carefully. The knowledge you’ve acquired today cannot be spoken outside of Valla. Nor can the very name of Valla; this is the curse I mentioned earlier. Anyone who speaks of such things elsewhere will vanish.”

“That’s… ominous,” Inigo said. “But okay.”

“As well, I must mention the crystals I gave you are Vallite in origin. They will only work in this world, and not in the lands above.” He paused, then continued, “Now for the task I wish to ask of you. First, I’ll need you to travel to one of the outside kingdoms I mentioned earlier. Namely, Hoshido.” He smiled. “It is not unlike the kingdom yourself rule, Inigo. I believe even the languages are all but the same.”

“That’s helpful,” Inigo said thoughtfully. “Well, for me, at least. Dunno how fluent you two are these days.”

“Fluent enough,” Owain grumbled.

Inigo, meanwhile, shot him a slowly burgeoning grin. “Right,” he said. “Like the time you wanted—” He broke off, snickering, as Owain’s expression grew even more disgruntled. “—but you asked for a—”

“Be quiet,” Owain said, shooting Inigo a glare as his cousin continued to chortle.

Anankos, meanwhile, cleared his throat, drawing their attention once more. “Mikoto fled to Hoshido,” he explained. “She is its queen now. I’m sure she would be happy to offer safe harbor to all of you. When you are there, I want you to accompany our child in a quest to obtain the five divine weapons. Once you have them, I wish you to return to this land… and defeat me. The beast that I have become…”

“You want us to _what?”_ Severa cried.

“This is your final goal. I need you to kill me. You must kill the Silent Dragon, Anankos.” He sighed. “I know how much he is suffering, for his pain is my own. That pain and anguish will not stop until he has destroyed every trace of mankind. But he is wrong. So very wrong. It is he who must fall, not mankind. Just as a parent whose children have grown, he has served his purpose. But rather than offering love and support, he now only offers hate and despair. There is nothing left for him but to die. It is the only way.”

Inigo shook his head. “But now that we know you, how can we…?”

“Because that is the way it must be,” Anankos said softly. “It is the only way to save this world. And do not try to say you cannot do it. I know you have slain a dragon already.”

A long moment passed, as if none of them dared to speak just what it had cost them to slay their first dragon.

“So be it,” Owain finally said. He’d gotten to his feet at some point, though he still had a hand on Ophelia’s shoulder. “I suppose we should start by learning more about your daughter. Like… what’s her name? How old is she?”

“Yes,” said Anankos. “That is a fine place to start. I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the years in the time it’s been since… but she would be an adult by now, I suppose, or nearly so. Her name is Kamui.”

“Kamui…” Owain said, seeming to roll the syllables around in his mouth before another voice interjected.

“So _this_ is where you’ve been hiding, you filthy imposter!”

The four turned toward the sound, where a lone figure stood on a hill not far off. She was wrapped in a swirling, silken cloak of ocean blue, the top of her hair only a few shades lighter until it blended into a pinkish-red at the tips.

“I do not know you, creature,” said Anankos. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lilith,” she said, shooting Inigo an odd glance as he made a strangled choking sound. “The daughter and most loyal servant of the great King Anankos.”

“What?” said Anankos.

“Wait!” Severa said. “You have _two_ kids? You should have told us!”

“It is a lie,” Anankos said. “This creature is no child of mine!”

“Of course I’m not!” Lilith said, crossing her arms as she strode toward them. “I said I’m the daughter of _King_ Anankos. _You_ are merely a disgusting fake, not the true Silent Dragon.”

“Impossible,” Anankos breathed. “The wicked dragon that is my former self fathered a child?”

“Heh,” said Lilith. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about little ol’ me. Guess you can’t foresee everything, can you? Like, say, the fact that your daughter resides in Nohr, not Hoshido…”

“She’s in Nohr?” he demanded. “But how? They must have kidnapped her for use as a pawn…”

Lilith smirked. “Oh, I like that look of despair on your face, you imposter. My father thinks you’re nothing but trouble. So it’s time to die, okay?”

“As though we’d allow that to happen!” Owain shouted, a Fire spell already blazing from his fingertips. Despite its speed, though, Lilith dodged it effortlessly, a knife glinting in her own hand only a moment early enough for Owain to miss it being thrown in return.

“You all right?” Inigo called, advancing to take his cousin’s place with Falchion at the ready.

“Wait!” Anankos shouted, a beat before a flash of light washed over them.

Lilith scoffed. “Oh, really now? Trying to immobilize me? As though a cheap magic trick could help you defeat me!”

“You three!” Anankos said. “Use the crystal balls! Do it now! You can still escape! Please, return to your world while you still can!”

“Huh? Are you kidding me?” Severa demanded.

“I’m so sorry,” Anankos said. “It seems my powers are weaker than I thought. The fact that my former body has created a daughter means the future of this world… is far, far bleaker than I thought. I cannot ask you to remain in a world that is beyond saving!”

“You know we’re not going to accept that, right?” Owain asked.

“Do not worry,” Anankos continued. “Your reward will remain even though you are retreating. I regret not giving you the chance to decide where you truly wish to return to… But thank you for believing me. It’s time to go. _Now!”_

“Not a chance!” said Severa. “We’re not going anywhere just yet. You can’t make us, either!”

Anankos let out a confused peep, by far the most undignified thing they’d heard out of him. “What?”

“Are you dense?” Severa demanded. “After all that’s happened, you _still_ can’t believe in people? You sure sounded like you regretted not trusting humans before… so how about picking a different path and living without regrets, you fool!”

“Why would you tell us to abandon you when you said we were your last hope?” Inigo asked. “We’ve bet our entire lives on hope before. It’s the only way to live. Countless times, hope was all we had, and look how far it took us!”

“Don’t believe in some bleak future your morose thoughts have conjured!” Owain added. “Believe in the ones who are with you here and now!”

A long moment passed.

“Owain… Inigo… Severa…” Anankos finally whispered. “I understand. I will trust you… with all of my heart.”

“So _that’s_ your plan?” Lilith suddenly interjected with a sneer. “Trust and hope? Ha! Let’s see how well your trust and hope fare against this!”

The air shimmered around them, more of the ghostly Vallite soldiers rising from the mists. “More of those things?” Severa demanded. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Your _inspiring_ words are nothing compared to my puppets,” Lilith replied, taking a step back—evidently, she’d broken free of Anankos’s hold on her. “I hope you like it here. This will be your final resting place!”

“Not a chance,” Inigo shot back. “We have places to go. Things to do. Worlds to save. So you’d better—” He pivoted, that strange energy buzzing through him again as he swung toward a Vallite creeping up in his peripherals, _“—watch out!”_

“Owain!” Anankos shouted over the burgeoning carnage as Inigo’s foe blew apart with a burst of rushing water. “Your daughter! I can protect her!”

Owain hesitated for the barest moment, a flash of uncertainty on his features before he nodded. It was the last Inigo could look, though, and the next thing he heard outside of the battle was his cousin’s baffled query of, “Wait, what’s this?”

“The last of my power that I can grant you,” Anankos said. “In this world, as well as Hoshido and Nohr, there are Dragon Veins—places where energy below the earth has gathered. Only those with dragon blood can activate them. But now, I shall bestow you with my own blood—if you drink it, it will allow you to temporarily activate the dragon veins.”

“How long’s temporary?” Severa demanded. “Because if that stuff can give us a hand I’d appreciate it a little more _quickly!”_

“It varies,” Anankos said, his voice still level and matter of fact despite the carnage and the span that was now between them. “But usually several decades. It can even be passed to your children.”

Over the dissolving lancer between them, Inigo shot Severa an incredulous look. “Sure. Right. Wonderful. Drink the blood that’s gonna change your bodily makeup for the next thirty years. Clearly haven’t got enough dragon blood in me already. Sounds awesome. Can’t wait.”

“Oh, shut up,” Severa said.

~~~

“Are you both all right?” Inigo called, absently rolling his shoulders despite the fact he was still just as limber as before the battle and as wired as he’d been after the last one.

“Yeah, no thanks to you!” Severa called with a familiar roll of her eyes.

“Of course!” Owain answered, still flicking rather absently through his tome. “The fiends were no match for me… mostly. Ophelia?” No sooner had he spoken, though, did a hasty _“Elwind!”_ spill past his lips, the spell slamming into yet another Vallite soldier.

“Did you really think you could beat me?” Lilith demanded, stepping out from the shrouded mists just as before. Inigo cursed himself for losing track of her. “You foolish humans! King Anankos gave me an endless supply of soldiers. Ready for round two?”

“They still want to fight?” Owain asked, a groan eeking through his gritted teeth.

Severa, meanwhile, shook her head and brandished her sword once more. “I’ve had it up to _here_ with those creeps!”

“There’s no end to them,” Inigo sighed. “But we don’t have much choice…”

A moment later, though, the world seemed to slow, then freeze. “No,” said Anankos, still moving even as the world remained motionless. He still had Ophelia by the hand, and their horses trailed at a distance. “There’s no need for you three to keep fighting. I shall send you to Nohr from here.”

“Nohr?” Owain asked. “Didn’t you say we were going to Hoshido?”

Anankos, meanwhile, only shook his head. “I wish I could have told you more… told you everything. But I suppose this is farewell.”

“What are you on about?” Severa asked. “What exactly are you planning on doing here all by yourself? You should come with us!”

“I must remain,” said Anankos. “Even if I could leave, there’s nothing I can do in the other kingdoms. But listen carefully. If you find a way to integrate yourselves with the Nohrian royal family… perhaps you can learn what has become of my daughter…”

“You can’t be serious,” Inigo said, only for the world around them to snap once more into motion.

“That’s enough out of you!” Lilith snarled. Her knife glinted, her motions so openly telegraphed that all three of the travelers went lunging to block it even without a hope of catching the blow.

Anankos, however, merely dodged it and continued on. “When next we meet… it will be as enemies. Promise me you will return…”

And one final, panicked thought crossed Inigo’s mind.

He’d told them how to get to Nohr and Hoshido from Valla, but not how to get to Valla—and to _home—_ from Hoshido and Nohr.

“Wait! Mr. Anankos! But how do we get back—”

Valla bent around them, Inigo’s words twisting into deafening silence as his body stretched into nothing.

~~~

**Bottomless Canyon, Nohr—April 30, 635**

The first thing Inigo noticed was that he had rocks in places there should never be rocks.

The second thing he noticed is that he was already soaking wet, despite the fact it had hardly taken him a handful of seconds to regain his bearings in the wake of the second transport. “Oh, fie on me,” he groaned, rolling onto his back only to find his face assaulted by the torrential downpour that had been kind enough to greet them.

Severa said something far less eloquent.

“Language,” Owain told her half-heartedly, pulling himself into a seated position as he felt once more for Ophelia.

Severa, meanwhile, ignored him. “What kind of send-off was _that?”_ she demanded, seemingly of the open air. “And for that matter, what kind of welcome is _this?”_

A flash of lightning and a roll of thunder overhead seemed to answer her. “Not my kind of welcome,” Inigo put in, glancing around. Even through the thickening rain, their surroundings seemed to be little more than a rocky, barren wasteland—barring the incredible drop-off a few hundred feet ahead of them.

“The Bottomless Canyon?” Owain asked, seemingly having taken note of the same feature.

“I suppose it must be,” Inigo said. “Which means… I guess this is Nohr.”

“Looks like a pretty terrible place to live to me,” Severa said, getting to her feet. “Come on, we better find shelter before we drown out here. At least the horses are here.”

Inigo glanced away from the Canyon to find she was right, though their mounts seemed to be a little more put out than they had been in Valla. “Right then. Everybody in one piece? Ophelia? You okay?”

The girl nodded, her soaked twintails still managing to bounce. “It’s a grand quest,” she declared. “It’s good that I came.”

“Uh huh,” Owain told her. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for that either, young lady.”

Ophelia shot him an especially piteous look at that.

“Hey,” Inigo said, gathering Scottie’s reins. “Shelter first, domesticity later, thanks.”

“Right,” Owain said, taking Ophelia’s hand and striding after the other two.

As thunder clapped once more above them, Laslow, Odin, and Selena made their way deeper into Nohr.


	8. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I found my role in the tragedy, I lost my soul in the make-believe  
>  Just a doll with your threads sewn into me, paralyzed when you finally cut the strings  
> So stick your pins in the effigy, run my life till you rip the seams  
> Build it up in a technicolor dream, a prisoner just for you, now set me free…  
> (I can’t breathe at the thought of you, it’s a telekinetic issue,  
> Set me free, I’ve been caught in you, overcome with a heartsick voodoo…)_

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—April 30, 635**

Leo wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected out of his next visit to the Northern Fortress. Frankly, despite the traitorous way his thoughts had circled back to his last visit every time they wandered, he’d been doing his level best to _avoid_ thinking about the Northern Fortress of late.

He’d kept to his room from practically the moment he and his siblings had arrived, giving Corrin the scarcest of greetings before retreating upstairs with a pile of tomes with a vague excuse about still wanting to research the Diabolan Faceless.

And, for most of the day, it had actually worked—at least as far as a lack of disturbances went. His room still held the ghosts of his last visit, of aching injury and the illness that had swept over him in its wake and certain, damning realizations of _gods help him, he loved her—_

Leo shook his head for the umpteenth time that afternoon, pinching the bridge of his nose and forcing the words in front of his face back into focus. He’d drafted a letter to Duke Wilhelm that morning in hopes he could still investigate by proxy even if Garon had forbidden him from returning at that moment, but such a thing still depended on _Wilhelm_ being able to find the creatures that had suddenly taken to eluding both of them.

He let out a sigh, wishing Garon had given him permission to return. Or that Diabola was close enough for him to sneak there anyway.

“Leo?”

His heart leapt unceremoniously into his throat. “Come in,” he managed, though he kept his gaze resolutely on his desk.

The door clicked open, though a long moment passed before any other sound came. “Hey,” Corrin said, her voice slightly tentative. “Are you busy?”

Leo was sorely tempted to say yes, purely as an excuse, though he was forced to admit to himself it would be nothing _but_ an excuse. “To an extent,” he finally said.

“Oh.” Even that single syllable carried disappointment. “Okay.”

The floorboards creaked under her feet as she turned to go and Leo found his head involuntarily snapping around to seek her out. “Wait,” he said automatically, then cursed the sudden burning in his cheeks that caught up a moment later. Corrin turned back. “What did you…?” Leo began, then trailed off.

“Well,” she began, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I was kind of hoping for a riding lesson.”

That should have been obvious, he thought, simply from her breeches and elegant tall boots as well as how her ivory hair had been pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck.

 _You’re staring,_ he reprimanded himself sharply, finding his gaze had landed on where she’d pulled her lower lip between her teeth. _Be normal,_ the same voice chided again.

 _What is normal anymore?_ another voice demanded.

 _Jest with her,_ the first one said, and Leo was forced to admit it was right.

“Well, I’m not sure much you’ll have to teach me, but I suppose we could give it a try,” he told her loftily. “What do you charge?”

Corrin rolled her eyes, the gesture infinitely familiar. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh,” Leo said, as if he’d only just realized. “You want a lesson from me. I’m not sure you could afford my rate.” A beat too long passed before he forced out, “Sister.”

“Ooh, however will I afford a free lesson?” she asked.

“Free?” Leo asked with a quirk of his brow. “Whatever gave you that impression? My time is worth more than that.”

“Five tomatoes,” Corrin immediately deadpanned.

“Where would you be getting tomatoes from?” he shot back. “And I charge twenty, you know that.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twelve.”

“Fourteen.”

“Twelve and a half.”

“What good is an extra half a tomato?”

“What, do you swallow them whole?” Corrin quirked a brow at him. “That can’t be good for you, Leo.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Isn’t Gunter teaching you anymore?” he asked, returning to the topic at hand.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Corrin said. “But I think you explain things better, sometimes.”

“Well, in that case,” Leo said, sighing and beginning to put away what was strewn over his desk.

“Oh, that’s going to give you an ego, isn’t it. Shouldn’t have said it.”

“You call it an ego,” he told her. “I call it a healthy confidence in my abilities.”

“Tomato, tomahto?” Corrin asked with a grin.

“You know, considering they are the gods’ gift to mankind, I’m not terribly fussed about what you call them,” Leo told her.

~~~

_“Half-halt,_ Corrin,” Leo said, his tone rising a fraction. “You’ve got to balance her or nothing you’re doing is going to do any good. Use your corner, bring her hind end up underneath her, half-halt, _more—there_ it is. Did you feel that?”

Corrin nodded, her shoulders slumping a little.

“Then do it again,” he told her sharply, before she could lose any more of her focus. “On a circle this time, please.”

Corrin’s horse, a little black mare by the name of Misty, struck off into a canter once more.

“Better,” Leo told her a few minutes later, hands in his pockets as Corrin came down to a walk and guided her mount to the center of the makeshift ring. “I think, really, that you’re just afraid of her.”

“I’m not afraid of Misty,” Corrin protested, as Misty herself bobbed her head with the freedom of her suddenly loosed reins.

“You’re afraid to reinforce,” Leo corrected himself, striding up and absently scratching at Misty’s head as he came near. The mare _was_ a good match for Corrin, easy-going and laid back, for all that Garon’s gifting of her had been a mystery since the day it happened.

None of them had expected Corrin to have a horse as long as she remained in the Fortress, yet for her seventeenth birthday she’d been given Misty—a horse who, according to Garon, could not bear the terrain outside the walls without injuring herself. However true or untrue such a thing might be and however much Corrin had enjoyed learning to ride since, Leo could only wonder the motivation of giving Corrin such an aching glimpse of freedom that did nothing to actually alleviate her captivity.

He absently shook his head, continuing, “You ask her gently, and that’s a good thing, but when she doesn’t listen you won’t go any further. Trust me,” he continued dryly, “if you got on Hati right now and tried to ride him just like you ride her, he would blow right through every single aid you gave him. And then you would die.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Corrin said.

“He’s bigger than Misty, he’s stronger than her, and, unfortunately, he’s probably also smarter than her,” Leo said. “He’d figure you out in an instant.”

Corrin sighed. “Okay,” she said. “So I need to get better at reinforcing my aids. Especially if I ever want to ride Hati.”

“Not sure why you’d want to, really,” Leo told her dryly. “He’s obnoxious enough with me, and he respects me.”

“It’s good to have goals,” Corrin said, though Leo wasn’t quite listening anymore.

“And really,” he continued absently. “Respect—mutual respect, that is—is what it comes down to. The horse has a respect for the rider to lead and to keep them safe. The rider has a respect for the fact that the horse could very easily kill them if they put their mind to it. I’ve had Hati for, what, almost five years now? And he’ll still throw me when he’s in a foul temper. In the end, I—” Leo broke off as a grin slowly spread over Corrin’s face. “What?”

“You’re cute when you lecture,” she told him with a crooked smirk.

Leo bloomed burgundy, taking an automatic step back. _“C-Corrin,”_ he stuttered out, having just enough awareness over the ringing in his ears to hope that she took his embarrassment as a younger brother’s offense to being babied rather than where his head had _really_ gone. Judging by her melodic, ringing laugh as she hopped off Misty’s back, she had.

 _Of course she had,_ he thought. _She doesn’t have a clue you’re not related._

Leo shook his head, wishing he could wash away his self-directed shame. “Well,” he finally said. “I’ll be… going.”

“Thanks, Leo,” Corrin said, bringing Misty’s reins over her head. “It helped a lot. I mean it.”

Leo could only nod, close his eyes, and wish once more that he was not who he was.

~~~

**Eastern Diabolan Border, Nohr—April 30, 635**

The rain had dropped off as they made their way further from the Bottomless Canyon, but this part of Nohr, it seemed, was not particularly welcoming, and the closest they’d found to shelter had been a few scraggly, scattered trees.

“Hey, Owain—or, er, Odin… Oh, this is going to take some getting used to,” Laslow said, plastering his hand to his forehead.

“Well, you’d better hurry up and get used to it,” Selena told him airily. “If you two go and blow our cover as soon as we get somewhere because you can’t remember to use _the correct names_ I’m never going to forgive you.”

“Do not fear, my fiery friend! The stakes are too high for such a trivial matter to trip us up, Sevvvv...lena,” Odin said, drawing out the mish-mash of her name for quite a bit longer than necessary before offering a sheepish smile.

A beat passed. “Uh _huh,”_ said Selena.

Odin shook his head, wondering to himself if perhaps the biggest risk in their name department might actually end up being Ophelia before Laslow spoke again.

“So, I did actually have something to say,” his cousin drawled. “Namely the fact that I can hear wyverns.”

Selena straightened in her saddle, twisting her head this way and that for a moment. “Yeah, I do too,” she said. “And I mean… I can hear them _really_ well.”

“You can?” Odin asked.

Selena nodded, then raised a hand to block her left ear—her good ear, the one that hadn’t been half deaf for the better part of a decade thanks to a too-near explosion back in their old timeline. “Laslow, say something.”

“Er, hello?” Laslow ventured, then quirked a brow at Selena’s suddenly flabbergasted expression. “Wait, so are you saying…?”

“Yeah,” she said, dropping her hand again. “It’s… I swear to Naga I’ve got full hearing in that ear again, but it’s been, like, ten years, so why…?”

“Maybe he did more than just change our appearances,” Odin mused, only to break off and gaze abruptly skyward. “Oh, I think I’ve caught a glimpse of trouble.”

Both his companions did the same. “Hang on, they’re in formation, though,” Laslow said, shielding his eyes towards the three wyverns soaring above them. “They can’t be feral.”

“Oh, thank the gods, maybe there _is_ something resembling civilization out here,” Selena said, lifting her arm in a wide wave.

“Let’s hope it’s friendly civilization,” Laslow replied dryly. “I think we’ve had enough skirmishes for one day.”

As he spoke, the lead wyvern swooped lower, its rider giving a returning wave. It swung into a downward spiral, the other two following on its tail until they finally landed at a distance far enough for horses unused to them. The three’s mounts, however, had spent enough time in battle alongside draconian companions to be unphased even in proximity, but Odin noted it as a point of awareness in the approaching group.

“Ho there!” the evident leader called, sliding off his mount to approach. He seemed to be middle-aged, his build slim but tough, his once-red hair going gray. An axe hung from his hip, though it was fairly small and light—not quite like the incredible battleaxes the likes of Gerome and Cherche usually favored. “It’ll hardly be fit to be out tonight, travelers! Where are you headed?”

A long moment passed before any of them answered. “To Nohr,” Laslow finally said.

“Well, you’ve managed that!” the man answered. “Though I imagine you know that already.”

“We’re from… very far away,” Laslow continued in a wary tone.

“I can see that,” the man said, coming alongside Scottie and offering his hand. “Duke Wilhelm of Diabola,” he introduced. “The territory you’re now in, if you weren’t aware.”

All at once, Laslow slipped into another demeanor entirely, one likely cultivated during three years of placating Chon’sinian nobles. “Well met, Your Grace,” he said, offering as much of a bow as he could give on horseback. “I’m Laslow, and these are my friends, Odin and Selena.”

“And Ophelia,” Ophelia herself piped up importantly.

“And Ophelia,” Laslow repeated.

“Anyway,” Selena said, tossing a twintail over her shoulder. “We need a place to stay. Don’t suppose you know of any?”

Wilhelm hummed thoughtfully. “You won’t make it to Castle Tuefell on horseback by nightfall,” he said. “But we have an outpost about an hour north of here. I can bring you there for the night.”

“Castle Tuefell?” Odin asked. “Is that in the capital, perchance?”

Wilhelm shot him an odd look. “Diabola’s capital, yes. Nohr’s, no. That’s Castle Krakenburg.”

Odin noted that name. “How far is that?”

“Weeks, overland,” said Wilhelm. “The only practical way is by river, and that’s about three days in good weather. Are you especially keen on heading there?”

“Eventually,” said Laslow. “But for now, anywhere that will put us up is good.”

“Well, I can help you there,” said Wilhelm. He gave them another keen once over, his eyes slightly narrowed, then said, “I don’t suppose you three know your way around a fight?”

The three exchanged glances. “Oh,” said Laslow. “We’ve been in a scuffle or two.”

Wilhelm nodded. “Good to know.” He cleared his throat. “Well, no point standing here—the light won’t last much longer. Let’s talk more when we’re settled for the night.”

~~~

“Ah,” Laslow said dryly, as if he had a clue what he was talking about. “The finest Nohrian hospitality.”

The outpost Wilhelm had led them to certainly hadn’t been built with comfort in mind—it housed little more than a dozen soldiers who had scrambled to make room for their duke and his impromptu guests, and even all their rearranging still left Laslow, Odin, Selena, and Ophelia sharing one single, cramped room. It wasn’t the worst place they’d ever stayed, and it would be far better than braving the elements, so Selena still rolled her eyes at his dry words.

“Better than nothing,” she said, dropping her pack on the floor. They’d been given clean clothes for the night, though perhaps Odin had gotten lost upon receiving his, because he’d yet to find his way into their room. Even the smallest shirt the outpost had served as a floor-length nightgown for Ophelia, though—obviously, they didn’t often have visitors of the child variety, though she seemed entirely unbothered by it as she settled into the corner to play with Potato the Pegasus. “This Wilhelm guy seems awfully nice.”

“Some people are just nice, you know,” Laslow pointed out. “That is a thing that happens in the world. And I wouldn’t complain too much, since it seems like this is the only place we’d find to stay for miles.”

“I’m not complaining,” said Selena. “Just pointing out.”

Laslow shrugged, moving to pour a glass of water from the pitcher in the corner. It had a potent mineral taste to it and was decidedly room temperature, but he didn’t plan on complaining about that.

The door flung open, hitting the wall behind it with a bang. _“Behold!”_ Odin declared, holding his arms out to display…

Whatever the hell it was he thought he was wearing.

Laslow choked on his drink, giving himself a moment to take in the garish, feathery yellow getup his cousin seemed to have dug out from some jester’s closet before shaking his head and holding a hand to his face. “My _eyes!”_

“Aha!” said Odin, moving to close the door. “Overcome with the epicness of my new wardrobe, are you, cousin? I cannot say I’m surprised—”

“That is exactly the opposite of what is happening right now,” Laslow said. “So… where’s the other half of it…?”

“What are you speaking of, Laslow?” Odin asked. _“This,_ I have been informed, is the traditional outfit of a Nohrian dark mage! Isn’t it _epic?”_

“It’s something,” said Selena. “Epic’s definitely not it, though. Try another adjective. Like… ridiculous?”

Odin pouted. “You guys have no sense of style.”

 _“We_ have no sense of style?” Laslow shot back. “You look like something that starts with ‘e’ and ends with ‘-xotic dancer.’”

Odin cocked his head, pausing for a moment before asking, “What’s an exotic dancer? You mean like you?”

Laslow, having had the unfortunate timing of trying to hydrate himself for the second time, choked on his drink again. “No! Not at all like me! Gods, Owa—Odin, do you live under a rock?”

When Odin still shot him a painfully blank look, Selena sighed and shook her head. “He just called you a stripper.”

“Hey!” both boys exclaimed at the same time. “Innocent ears!” Laslow continued, gesturing to Ophelia.

“You’re the one who said it!” Odin shot back.

“I used a euphemism! That you apparently don’t know! And happens to be entirely appropriate for that… thing!”

“What’s a stripper?” Ophelia asked.

A long silence dragged out.

“Nope,” said Laslow. “No way. I am so not gonna explain that.”

 _“You’re_ the one who said it!” Odin told him again.

“You’re the one who’s dressed like one!”

Selena sighed again. “It’s something your dad is going to explain to you when you’re older,” she told Ophelia. _“Much_ older. And for the record, Odin, someone’s totally having you on. No way mages actually dress like that in battle.”

“Also for the record,” Laslow put in, “No one needs to behold that much of you. Least of all me.”

“You’re just jealous of my impeccable figure,” Odin grumbled. “And my amazing new outfit.”

“I’m really not,” Laslow said.

A knock came at their door, its tenor somehow even polite. Odin, still closest, answered. “Ah! Your Grace! Many thanks again for your offered hospitality!”

“I hope we didn’t cause you too much trouble,” Laslow offered as well.

Wilhelm shook his head. “Not as such,” he said. “I sent one of my guards ahead back to Tuefell so no one panics in my absence. Truth told, I doubt you would have lasted the night out there, between the weather and…” He trailed off. “Well, we’re hardly in the kindest part of Nohr right now.”

“Still, it’s appreciated,” Laslow said. He shrugged. “Though I can tell you we’re not quite as fragile as you might think. We’ve spent plenty of nights in the rough.”

Selena, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes. “So,” she said. “Was there something in particular we ought to have been worried about out there?”

Wilhelm’s gaze shifted away before he answered. “Quite a few things, really. But you’ll be fine here.” He looked back, clearing his throat. “So just where are you from, then?”

The three glanced at each other. “It’s pretty far,” said Selena. “You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

Wilhelm quirked a brow, as if to say _Try me._

“It’s in, the, er, south,” Laslow ventured, haphazardly picking a direction and hoping it worked geographically.

“Nestra?” Wilhelm guessed. “Or Notre Sagesse?”

“Yeah,” Laslow said quickly. “Small town. Not many tourists.”

The duke shot them another odd look. “Well,” he said, keeping his tone forcibly light. “So long as you’re not Hoshidan spies, right?”

A beat passed. “Do you have a lot of problems with Hoshidan spies?” Odin asked.

Wilhelm let another moment go by before he said, “Well, it’s Hoshido. You never know.”

 _What a delightfully ambiguous answer,_ Laslow thought. “Really, though,” he said, quickly deflecting the conversation. “Thanks for bringing us. Let us know if there’s any way to repay you.”

“Well, that depends,” said Wilhelm. “If you really do know your way around a fight, there’s always room in the Diabolan knight orders.”

The three exchanged glances again, plainly thinking the same thing. Knights weren’t nobility, but they were a step above rank and file soldiers, depending on just how it was organized in Nohr—and any way to distinguish themselves was one step closer to the royal family and anything that could be gleaned from them about Kamui. “Knight orders sound like a lark,” Laslow said breezily. “Sign us up.”

“There is an entrance exam, you know,” Wilhelm said dryly. “But your interest is duly noted.” He paused, then, and as if he’d read their thoughts, mused, “It’s a pity you didn’t make it here a week ago. You just missed Prince Leo.”

Latching onto the title drop, Odin asked, “Prince Leo?”

“Mm,” said Wilhelm. “It’s not often the royal family comes to visit, either, though Prince Xander comes to the summer tournaments on occasion. Although…” he trailed off, his gaze going distant. “I would not be especially surprised if he missed this year.”

Despite his hospitality, it didn’t seem Wilhelm was too keen on offering much in the way of information. Still, at least the names “Leo” and “Xander” were better to go off of than nothing.

“Anyways,” Wilhelm said after a long moment. “I’ll bid you goodnight, then.”

“Good night, Your Grace,” Laslow called after him cheerfully.

Once the door had clicked shut once more, Selena shook her head. _“Nice,”_ she said again under her breath.

“Indeed, quite so,” said Odin. “I could almost believe—” He broke off as Selena let out a snicker. “What?”

“I just can’t take you seriously wearing that thing,” she told him.

~~~

Odin wasn’t quite sure what actually woke him, though his internal clock left him guessing that he’d likely only been asleep for an hour or two. He forced one bleary eye open, habitually seeking out Ophelia only to find her perfectly sound asleep. For a moment, he watched the rise and fall of her small torso until he’d contented himself with the knowledge it was no distress of hers that had disturbed him.

He caught the echo of a candle flicker against the wall, however. Laslow, almost certainly, judging by the angle of the light and the fact that Selena was surely unconscious by this hour as well. Odin acknowledged this alongside the fact that his current positioning was no longer comfortable before readjusting his blanket and forcing himself to roll over.

Still through half-lidded eyes, he peered at his cousin for a long moment. Laslow was still upright, cross-legged at the head of his own bed. The oddest part of the sight, though, was that he’d rid himself of his shirt, and even Odin’s sleep-addled brain recognized how utterly out-of-character it was. Even if they were all asleep, there _were_ other people in the room, which could only mean that whatever ailment had left Laslow pressing a hand to his ribs was troubling him far more than any potential embarrassment his current state of dress might leave him in.

“You okay?” Odin mumbled, though the words came out as little more than an unintelligible series of syllables.

Laslow drew in a sharp breath, glancing over at Odin before managing an utterly unconvincing “Yeah.” He made no move to cover himself, though, nor did he remove his hand from his side.

Odin sighed, now without any hope of slipping immediately back into slumber. Instead, he wriggled out from under the covers, pushing himself off the thin mattress at such an angle that he managed to cross the narrow distance from his own bed to Laslow’s without ever pulling himself completely upright. “You sure?” he whispered, casting a wary look at Selena and saying a prayer that she was sleeping more heavily than he had been. When Laslow didn’t answer, Odin continued, “Are you hurt?”

Laslow shook his head, finally dropping his hand to curl in the fabric of his pants. “No,” he murmured; true enough, the spot just below his ribs he’d been so protective of seemed completely unmarked.

“Then what…?” Odin ventured.

Laslow let out a sharp, bitter bark of a laugh. “You haven’t noticed.”

It was so clearly _not_ a question, but Odin shook his head anyway.

“It’s been four and a half years since the end of the Valm War,” Laslow said—for some inexplicable reason. Odin opened his mouth to query just where _that_ line of discussion had come from before his cousin continued. “Since Walhart nearly killed me. And I’ve had this great big awful scar from it ever since.” An odd, choking sound escaped him. “Or at least I did. Because it should be right here.” He put his hand back on the same spot as before—the same perfectly smooth, utterly unmarked plane of his side. “And it’s not there.”

A wave of cold washed over Odin at the realization, his mouth falling open slightly. “Wait,” he began.

“It’s not _there,”_ Laslow repeated, his voice rising in pitch even if it was still painfully quiet. “None of them are. And it’s not just… it’s Sev’s ear, too, and gods know with all this rain my shoulder should be killing me by now, and you were reading earlier and you never once complained about a headache and you didn’t even notice, did you? It’s not just our names, Owain, it’s our _scars_ and our _Brands_ and they’re _gone_ and—” He broke off with a rising, choking breath.

Odin swallowed, finally forcing out the reminder of, “Names. Wrong names.”

“I know,” Laslow whispered. “And that’s just it. If I’m Laslow, and I’m this perfect, scarless, Brandless, featureless…” Once more, he cut himself off. “If I’m Laslow, then what happens to Inigo?”

A long moment passed before Odin could bring himself to answer. “I don’t know.”

Laslow’s chest heaved in a gasp then shook with a shuddering exhale. “A few weeks,” he murmured.

“What?”

“I told Say’ri we’d be gone a few weeks.” Laslow’s voice had gone abruptly from panicked to hollow. “But it’s going to be so much more than that. This is…”

“Oh,” Odin managed.

“He didn’t tell us how to get back,” Laslow continued. “He told us the crystals would only work from… you know… where we came through. But he didn’t tell us how to get back there. So we—”

Odin didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

_So we can’t go home._

“Owain,” Laslow whispered in a voice that hadn’t sounded quite so lost since the long-gone days of their broken future. “What have we done?”


	9. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Trio learns some more about the stakes and meets their first canon character.

**Eastern Diabolan Border, Nohr—May 1, 635**

The second time, Odin didn’t have to question what had woken him.

Shouts came through the thin walls, ever-familiar even in this new world that they’d gone stumbling into. The sound of panic, of siege, of ambush was as universal in their third world as it had been in their first two.

“The hell is—” Laslow began, flinging aside his blankets and making a grab for his boots in one less than graceful motion. The rest of his words were drowned out, though, by the ringing toll of a bell.

“—some kind of attack?” Selena seemed to finish, already belting her sword to her waist. “...Knew that Wilhelm guy was hiding something,” she continued with a cross expression.

Odin, too, had already clapped a hand to the tome on his nightstand, dragging it toward him out of long-established habit before he froze.

“Daddy,” Ophelia said, her face ashen and eyes wide.

 _This_ was the problem, he thought ruefully, of being a hero of legend with a toddler in tow. It was a dilemma he had faced all too often—to leave her and add his might to the battle, or to stay and keep her safe and abandon his comrades to their fate?

He shot a glance around the room. It had no exterior walls and no windows, which meant that the solid door ahead of him was the only entrance and exit. Ophelia would be safe enough so long as it stayed locked, but if their foes were _inside_ the outpost—

Selena, though, having spent more time with Odin and Ophelia through their travels than anyone else, seemed to know his dilemma already. Down the hallway, she turned back and hollered, “They’re outside, Odin, come on!”

Odin sucked in a breath and nodded, despite the fact his friend was well out of sight. “I will be _right back,”_ he told Ophelia, smoothing a hand over the crown of her head before bending down to drop a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here. I love you.”

“‘Kay,” she said in a small voice that nearly broke him in the mere instant it took for him to spin away, bolt out the door, and lock it tight behind him.

There wasn’t much room to get lost in the outpost—Odin had made it outside hardly thirty seconds later, only to be immediately be hit by a blast of air so cold it made his eyes water. _Feels like Regna Ferox,_ he thought to himself absently as he did his best to take in the scene.

 _Creatures_ were scattered through the night—great, hulking beasts that were nothing like the Vallite soldiers or any Risen Odin had ever encountered. They towered a head and shoulders above even the tallest of soldiers, deadly ropes of sinew twisting beneath blood-red hide that glinted sickly in the moonlight.

“What _are_ those things?” he asked aloud, gaze drawn toward where Laslow and Selena had already darted forward to tag-team one of the creatures.

“Faceless,” a grim voice came from Odin’s left. Wilhelm strode from the outpost, looking no more put-together than any of the rest of them are. “Our own especially nasty Diabolan variant.”

“No wonder you were warning us about the wildlife,” Odin muttered, a spell already crackling on his fingertips when Wilhelm’s own face went alight.

 _“Fimbulvetr!”_ the duke called, a blast of ice shooting out across the field in its wake.

Odin’s head snapped around, his own casting all but forgotten. “You’re a mage?”

“Is that so surprising?” Wilhelm asked, beginning to thumb through his own tome in earnest.

Odin shook his head, unable to keep his voice from rising in pure excitement. “Can you teach me that spell? Please? I will offer any of my own dark knowledge in exchange!”

“Er,” Wilhelm said, casting him an odd glance. “Perhaps another time?”

“Ah, of course! We must first move to dismantle our foes— _Thoron!”_

This time, the look the duke gave him was nothing short of amazed, a short chuckle escaping him. “Okay,” he said through a sudden grin. “Can _you_ teach me _that?”_

Odin shot him an answering grin. “Perhaps,” he said. “If you prove enough of my kindred spirit to handle its dark powers!” He broke off for a moment, only to continue on, “Agh! The darkness whispers! It demands me to join the fray with only my most powerful of moves… _ELDRITCH SMACKDOWN!”_

Wilhelm shot him one final glance, this one bemused, as Odin tore off into the field. Just because he didn’t tend toward melee fighting anymore didn’t mean he wasn’t still keen on getting in the middle of it all.

And in the middle of it all he certainly was—there had to be thirty of the Faceless in total, slow and stupid creatures but too strong to prove anything less than a capable threat.

“Gawds, Laslow, are you still asleep over there?” Selena demanded, pirouetting away from one of the fallen Faceless. “Look alive, would you?”

“Oh, my dear Selena, don’t give me that—hey! Watch it, Odin!”

“You’re welcome!” Odin called back, grinning at his cousin as he fell in beside the other two.

“No! I’m not welcome!” Laslow shot back. Odin let out a bark of laughter at that, as well as Laslow’s cross expression as his own words seemed to catch up to him. “Or… whatever! Point is, I’m definitely not thanking you for almost lighting me on fire, so watch it!”

“Oh, sure,” Odin said, rolling his eyes. “I save your life and all you do is complain. How typical of you.”

“Shut up,” Laslow grumbled, Falchion glinting in the meager moonlight as he swung once more.

~~~

They won, in the end. But the victory had its cost.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Wilhelm muttered. The two who had fallen were laid on the ground before him, their expressions frozen in death. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry,” Laslow murmured, pausing just to the duke’s left.

Wilhelm shook his head. “We would have been in even worse shape were it not for you three. Thank you.” He paused, glancing up and asking, “Where did Odin go?”

“With Ophelia, no doubt,” Selena told him. “He’s like that. Gets annoying sometimes, but…” She shrugged. “Whatever. He’s a good dad. Amazingly enough.”

Laslow blew out a quiet snort at that—it had been difficult enough to imagine his cousin as a father before it happened, no less to guess that Odin would actually turn into such a shining example of parenthood.

He wondered, briefly, how Ophelia would have turned out with _both_ of her parents in the picture, and shut down that thought as quickly as it had come to him.

Finally, Wilhelm shook his head. “I’ll make for Tuefell at first light,” he said, turning from the bodies. “Are you still interested?”

“Yeah,” Laslow said quickly.

“Totally,” Selena echoed.

The ghost a smile came to the duke’s face. “Good,” he said. “No need for those entrance exams, I suppose.”

“We tried to tell you we were good,” Laslow said with a shrug. “Not sure why you didn’t just believe us.” He paused, then, crossing his arms and lifting his brow. “So. About these… Faceless.”

Wilhelm sighed. “I suppose you would want to know about that, wouldn’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, gesturing for them to follow as he walked. “Long story short: they are creatures summoned through dark magic. However, they’re not always especially keen on remaining in the control of their summoner.”

“Well, who’s summoning them?” Selena asked.

“...Wouldn’t that be good to know,” Wilhelm muttered, then shook his head slightly. “I have things I must attend to,” he said. “Rest well. If you can.”

He shot one final glance over his shoulder at the two fallen soldiers before striding back inside.

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—May 1, 635**

Despite the fact that—obviously—Laslow had never set foot in Castle Tuefell before, something in the old stone walls rang infinitely familiar.

Inside the exterior gate, a long courtyard stretched out: training grounds, filled with sparring partners, archers down the range, and mages tossing cantrips back and forth. The air itself was bursting with shouts of victory, groans of defeat, and the laughter of comrades.

For the first time in three years, Laslow had the sensation of being back on the warpath.

“Over half the knights in Nohr train in Diabola at one point or another,” Wilhelm said, a hint of pride in his tone despite his somber air. “Plenty of them spend all four years of their squirehood here. Even plenty of those that take less traditional paths to knighthood take some time here.”

“Less traditional paths?” Selena asked. “What do you mean?”

“Some take the usual way,” said Wilhelm. “Become a squire at fourteen, be knighted in the winter solstice after you turn eighteen. On the other hand, the conferring of knighthood ultimately rests with the monarch. Impress the king and maybe he’ll do you a favor.”

“Ah,” said Selena. “So you weren’t just offering us instant tickets to knighthood for showing up.”

Wilhelm chuckled. “Afraid not. But you’ll be welcome to train with our soldiers, and if you have any interest in a belated squirehood…”

Laslow exchanged a glance with Odin, disguising a snort of laughter as a cough. He couldn’t help it—the idea of _them,_ warriors from another realm who had started to lose count of the wars they’d been in, beginning a program designed for fourteen-year-olds… Odin seemed to find the idea comical as well, judging by the absent shake of his head, while Ophelia—perched once more on his shoulders—was too keen on taking in the sights to be paying attention to the conversation.

“Yeah, I think we’ll take our chances with the king,” Laslow said.

Wilhelm shot him an odd look. “Ambitious, then, are you?” he asked, his tone deceptively light. It dropped into something lower as he continued, “I’d watch yourself. Ambition is a double-edged sword around here.”

Before anyone could inquire him to elaborate on that, the duke glanced up, a cross expression popping up on his face before he quickly disguised it, his eyes locking onto an approaching figure.

“Case in point,” the duke muttered under his breath, then raised his voice back to a conversational level. “Iago.”

“Your Grace,” the approaching man said. For the first time, Laslow had to consider the idea that maybe the soldiers they’d met _hadn’t_ been playing a trick on Odin in regards to his new attire—though the cut and style were different, this Iago fellow had an equally ostentatious outfit on. 

_That can’t be practical,_ Laslow thought.

“I received word you were delayed,” Iago continued in a simpering tone. “I hope you weren’t struck by some terrible misfortune?”

Wilhelm spent a long moment giving Iago a heavy look. “I was only delayed out of hospitality to these distant travelers,” he said.

Iago quirked a brow, giving the trio a once-over, his gaze lingering particularly long Ophelia. His gaze made the hair on the back of Laslow’s neck stand up, and judging by the way Odin shifted to hide a bristle, he wasn’t the only one. “Is that so,” he said mildly, then introduced, “I am King Garon’s royal tactician. I hope you’ve had a… warm welcome.”

“Well,” said Laslow, “not as such.”

Iago raised a brow once more.

“Have you heard at all from Krakenburg?” Wilhelm interjected.

“I’m afraid not,” Iago said, sounding suitably forlorn.

Wilhelm bit back a sharp sigh. “And did Prince Leo give you _any_ indication on when he might be able to return?”

“Oh,” Iago said. “Now that I have heard about. His Majesty has ordered His Highness to remain in Windmire for the moment.”

“What?” Wilhelm said. “Why in the name of the Dusk Dragon would he do that? I _need_ him right now!”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, I’m not sure what you need Prince Leo for that I would not be equally able to accomplish—” Iago began.

“Because we were attacked by those _bloody_ Faceless again last night, I lost two of my men in the fight, and _you_ have accomplished absolutely _nothing_ with regards to dealing with them!” Wilhelm shot back. “And the entire situation is utterly ridiculous! I lent my people wholeheartedly to suppress the Chevois rebellion not five months ago and this is how King Garon repays me when I’m in need?” He broke off, sucked in a breath, and brought his voice to a more normal tone. “My apologies. Perhaps that was out of turn. But I’m about to go to Krakenburg and speak with His Majesty myself.”

“I’m not sure how well that would go over for you, Your Grace,” Iago said, his voice still as benign as it had been before.

“I’ll take that chance,” Wilhelm said flatly. He shook his head, then glanced back at the traveling trio. “I’ll have my men show you to your rooms,” he said, then began to stride toward Castle Tuefell proper.

An idea popped into Laslow’s head, one that he scarcely had a moment to think over before he voiced it. “Don’t suppose you’d mind if we’d join you on this Krakenburg venture, would you?”

Wilhelm paused, casting an odd look over his shoulder. “I’ll give it some thought,” he said, before turning away once more.

Iago, meanwhile, gave them another appraising glance. “So,” he finally drawled. “What brings you to Nohr? And what’s your interest in visiting Krakenburg?”

“We’re on a quest,” Ophelia piped up before any of the adults could answer. “To save the world.”

Laslow let out a sharp cough, hoping it didn’t sound overly forced. “We’re just on a bit of a lark, really. She’s got an imagination. Runs in the family.”

“Hey,” said Odin, shooting him a glare. “That’s your family too, you know.”

“Yeah, but I got all the ‘reasonable people’ genes,” Laslow pointed out.

“You certainly did not, my friend!” Odin told him. “Have you any idea how many instances of ‘unreasonable’ I’ve pulled your sorry butt out of in the past decade?”

“Well, I got more reasonable genes than _you_ have, at least,” Laslow grumbled. “Which, admittedly, isn’t _that_ high of a bar, but—”

“Anyways,” Selena interjected. “We’ve just heard the sights in the capital are good and all. Thought we’d take some time there.” She took Laslow and Odin each by an elbow, adding, “C’mon, let’s go see where we’ve been put up. Nice to meet you, Iago.”

“And you as well,” Iago said, the faintest of smirks on his lips as he gestured them toward the castle.

When they’d made it far enough away from Iago to be out of hearing distance, Selena dropped her hands. “You _idjits,”_ she muttered. “Did you miss the part about him being the king’s tactician? You couldn’t have _tried_ to make a good impression on the guy instead of just descending into your endless needling of each other?”

Laslow glanced at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Tactician or no, not sure he seems like somebody I’m interested in impressing, no. He seems a bit… weird.”

“Oh, gods help us, there might be weird people in this country, might as well give up now,” Selena snapped.

“I’m afraid I must side with Laslow on this one,” Odin put in. “His aura seemed malefic… as though he were seeking to pierce our very hearts to discover our intentions.”

“Maybe he was making small talk!” Selena said. “We were told to find an in to the royal family! Maybe he’s our in!”

“Hey,” Laslow said. “Relax, Selena. We’ve been here for a day. And besides, maybe His Grace will let us tag along with him.” He paused, then added in an undertone, “It’s not like we’ve blown our mission yet.”

Selena still huffed, but finally quieted. “You guys owe me,” she muttered. “You owe me _so much.”_

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—May 3, 635**

Wood clashed against wood with an echoing _Thwack!_ that rang through the highest reaches of the Northern Fortress. Corrin’s arms burned as she pushed back against what might as well have been a solid stone wall for how much she was budging it—Xander’s own sword did not waver against even her entire strength.

Until, suddenly, it did—the practice sword locked with hers was gone as quickly as it came, leaving her stumbling forward without a way to catch her balance before the length of wood caught her in the ribs with a gentle but forceful tap.

“You should have disengaged,” Xander chided, stepping aside so Corrin didn’t go plummeting nose-first into his chest before she had room to right herself. “You are never going to win a fight with an opponent who has a foot in height and a hundred pounds in weight on you with brute force.”

“Sorry,” Corrin muttered, lowering her sword and using her free hand to sweep back the tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braid. “I guess I just really wanted to win.”

“Which is admirable,” Xander said. “But often one’s tactics are as essential to victory as one’s strength.” The ghost of a smile came to his face—a ghost that seemed to be the most they could get out of him these past few months. “Just ask Leo. I’m sure he’ll give you a lecture on such things.”

“When he starts speaking to me again,” Corrin grumbled. She paused, flushing a little. “Er, I mean…”

A moment passed. “I’ve noticed as well,” Xander said softly, then sighed. “I think he’s merely working through some things at the moment. He’ll come around in time.”

“Yeah,” said Corrin. “Oh, hey,” she said, her tone brightening. “Speak of the dragon. Hi Leo!”

Xander chuckled as Leo appeared at the top of the staircase. “Ah, look who’s finally left his room,” the elder prince said.

Leo shot him a remarkably cross look at that comment. “Good afternoon, Xander,” he said neutrally. “Corrin.”

Forcing her tone bright, Corrin rolled her shoulders and asked, “What’s up?”

“I need to speak with Xander, actually,” Leo said.

“Oh,” Corrin said, her lips twitching. “Right. I’ll just…”

“No, it’s not… you don’t have to leave,” Leo told her, then glanced back at Xander. “I’ve just gotten word that Duke Wilhelm is coming to Krakenburg. And he’s calling for a meeting of the entire royal court.”

Xander blinked. “And what could he possibly hope to accomplish by doing that?”

Leo shrugged. “To force Father’s hand? Try to get him to lend more aid to Diabola? I cannot see why, considering how long I was there and I never even saw the things… they can hardly amount to more than a minor annoyance.”

After a beat, Xander shook his head. “Endless political maneuvering,” he finally murmured. “Just when Cheve settles down, Diabola begins to give us trouble.”

“I doubt Diabola will give us the same sort of trouble Cheve has,” Leo said dryly. “At least, I sincerely hope they never do.” A soft snort escaped him. “Considering they make up half our army.”

Corrin glanced between them, trying to follow the politicking. “Yeah, but Duke Wilhelm’s not that kind of guy, right? Don’t you both like him?”

Xander gave her a placating look. “As much as one can like another noble,” he said, then continued, “Do not fret, little princess. I very much doubt anything will progress beyond talks.”

Corrin still chewed on her lip, turning her eyes upon Leo. Her younger brother, however, pointedly ignored her gaze. “Right,” she said. “I’m gonna head in, then.”

“See you later,” Leo told her absently.

She descended the stairs, shaking her head. Brothers truly were puzzling creatures.

~~~

_May 4, 635_

_My love,_

_I’m sure that date makes little sense to you, doesn’t it? ‘There goes my husband, gallivanting through time again.’ Well, I’m not sure if that’s entirely what we’ve done—so far, it seems like Nohr’s timekeeping system is pretty unrelated to ours, as far as the years go, at least. The months and dates are the same, for some reason. Funny how that works._

_I’d start at the beginning, but frankly there would be too many gaps that I can’t fill in. There’s a curse, you see, that prevents us from speaking on the true nature of our mission; and I’m going to assume writing about it, too, since I’m not especially keen on testing it out myself, for obvious reasons. I’m sure I shouldn’t even be writing you this at all—I have no way of getting it to you, after all, and I’m not sure what would happen if anyone ever found Chon’sinian writings in my belongings. That’s another thing—there’s another country here, called Hoshido, and apparently it’s so similar to our own homeland even the language is the same. The only thing? The country I’m in right now, Nohr, is pretty much at war with them. Sure, there’s no actual battles going on, but the tension is always through the roof, it looks like. It’s a cold war, in all honesty. I guess it’s a good thing my sister lent me Falchion, because the three of us have drawn enough interest without my wielding a katana. (Which I appear to have, uh, misplaced. I had it before we got here, I swear! But I haven’t seen it since we were still in our world… Don’t chide me, love, I’m already kicking myself about it.)_

_Anyways. I’m here, in Nohr, on a mission I can’t really elaborate on. We’re leaving for the Nohrian capital, Windmire, in the morning, to see if the royal family can aid us on our mission. Well, unknowingly aid us, I guess. We’re not even going by our real names at the moment—we’re Laslow, Odin, and Selena here, which has taken some getting used to. Ophelia adjusted quickly enough, surprisingly. I think she enjoys our having ‘secret identities.’_

_I miss you. I miss you more than I imagined I could have. I wish so badly you could have come, even knowing what an uproar you’ll have in my absence without the both of us being gone. There’s nothing to be done for it now, I suppose. I wish I could tell you not to fret. I promise we’ll be fine._

_I just wish I knew when I would see you again._

_With all my affections,_

_Your husband_


	10. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, my! Feels just like I don't try, look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me_   
>  _Head down, swaying to my own sound, flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me..._

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—May 5, 635**

“You look like hell, Odin.”

For once, Odin did not have an especially witty response as he dropped his breakfast tray on the table and unceremoniously collapsed in the seat beside Laslow. “Ophelia’s sick,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair and leaving it sticking up at odd angles. “I’ve been up all night with her. I think we managed about three hours of sleep between us.”

“Damn,” said Laslow. “I’m sorry. You can sleep on the boat at least, maybe?”

Odin shook his head, reaching for the pitcher occupying the center of the table. “We’re staying here for now, I think,” he said.

“Odin,” Laslow protested.

“I know, it’s not the plan, but it’s hardly fair of me to put her on a boat when she’s already throwing up—”

“Odin.”

“—and I can always catch up later, I guess, or you can just put in a good word for me or something when you get there—”

“Odin!”

“What?”

Laslow sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while the other gestured to Odin’s tray. “I was _trying_ to stop you from pouring your juice into your porridge, but whatever, keep yammering, see if I care.”

Odin blinked at his cousin for a moment, then glanced down at his breakfast, which had now turned into a murky and entirely unappetizing mix of dark grape juice floating on top of milky oats. “Oh,” he said, setting the pitcher back down beside his innocently empty glass. “That’s not ideal.”

Laslow snorted, rolled his eyes, and shoved his own bowl down the table.

Odin sighed. “Thanks,” he said, digging into the untainted meal.

Shrugging, Laslow merely responded, “Yeah. Anyways.” He tapped his hand absently on the table. “I don’t really like the idea of us splitting up,” he admitted.

“I don’t either,” Odin said. “But I’ll catch up, like I said. Or you’ll be heading back here soon enough, I guess. Probably.”

“Yeah, I assume so,” said Laslow. “Unless I immediately land myself a sweet job in the palace as, like, a chef or something.”

“A chef?” Odin asked. “Of all things, a chef? Aim higher, my friend.”

“Right,” said Laslow. _“Head_ chef.”

“I didn’t realize our plot involved _poisoning_ the court,” Odin said.

Laslow, meanwhile, shot a wary glance around the dining hall. “That… might not be the best thing to joke about around here,” he muttered.

“...Ah,” Odin said after a long moment. “Probably true.” He glanced down at his now-empty bowl and sighed. “I’m gonna go… sleep. Hopefully. Safe trip.”

“Get some rest,” said Laslow. “Hope Ophelia does better.”

Odin nodded absently and pushed himself up from the table. “Good night,” he said. “Er… morning. Er… whatever.” With that, he ambled toward the door and made a sharp left exit.

Laslow chuckled to himself, thirty seconds later, as his cousin wandered past the entrance heading the opposite way—in the actual direction of their rooms.

“You never change, my friend,” he muttered to himself, snatching an uneaten piece of toast off his cousin’s plate.

~~~

**On the River Tiefgrund, west of Diabola, Nohr—May 6, 635**

The more of Nohr Laslow saw, the more desolate this land seemed to be.

They’d been on the river for a steady day and a half, yet as sunset blazed across the water behind them, the shorelines had hardly changed from the same bare, rocky terrain that had greeted them the moment they’d popped out beside the Bottomless Canyon.

There had to be more arable land _somewhere_ in the country, didn’t there? Laslow knew how much territory it took to feed a population, and as of this moment he hadn’t seen it.

He sighed, leaning over the ship’s railing and continuing to watch the river wind toward the eastern horizon.

He’d ended up mostly left to his own devices of late, with Odin and Ophelia still in Tuefell; Selena had never been much of one for water journeys and had thus been spending most of the trip below decks. Wilhelm was friendly enough, but he wasn’t quite a _friend,_ and Laslow thought he’d probably been enough of a bother to the man lately.

There wasn’t much else to keep him occupied, either—he hadn’t packed books of any sort when they’d left Dai’chi, and he hadn’t been able to organize his thoughts enough to write to Say’ri again. Not that writing to her would actually help him much, considering he had no way of getting them to her.

What would she think, he wondered, when the weeks and months passed without his return? That he’d died?

That he’d walked out on her?

Laslow swallowed hard, trying to ignore the turn in his stomach as that thought occurred to him. Surely she knew him better than that. Didn’t she?

Footsteps approached, so soft it seemed as though the owner was trying to deliberately sneak up on him. Laslow was far too used to picking up on such things, though, not to mention the private suspicion he harbored that Anankos hadn’t just _fixed_ them, but had sharpened their senses as well. “Do you suppose it’s going to rain?” he asked aloud, not bothering to turn.

A beat passed before what was becoming a familiar drawl answered. “It might,” Iago said, his steps obviously louder now as he moved to stand beside Laslow.

“Huh,” Laslow said lightly. “Bit miserable for May, really.”

“Mm, but not unusual,” said Iago. “It must be different where you’re from.” He glanced sideways. “Which was… where again, exactly?”

Laslow shot him an equally sidelong glance, accented by a tight smile. “Far away,” he said. “Very far.” His first impression of Iago hadn’t seemed to change the more he knew the man, and this conversation wasn’t doing anything to better it. “And what about you? Born and raised here or nah?”

“Something like that,” said Iago. “I traveled a bit when I was younger. Now I go where my king bids me.”

“And he bids you to come home?” Laslow asked.

Iago seemed to puff out the slightest bit. “My position earns me a place in the royal court,” he said airily. “Since His Grace has called such a meeting, His Majesty will need my advice.”

“Didn’t you say you were the tactician?” Laslow asked, turning to face Iago fully.

“And royal advisor,” Iago added importantly.

“What’s your plan for these Faceless, then?” When Iago didn’t answer, Laslow grinned. “Oh, come on, indulge me. I’ve dabbled a little in tactics myself, here and there.” He shrugged. “Well, Odin more than me, really, but still.”

Iago smiled, then—a thin, cruel smirk that set Laslow’s teeth on edge. “Tactics?” he inquired. “Whatever would we need those for?”

His mild response had left Laslow briefly on the wrong foot, and it took him a moment to mentally compose a reply. “For the… Faceless?” he finally managed. “Isn’t that why His Grace called a council in the first place?”

“Oh,” said Iago. “It certainly is. That doesn’t mean he’ll get the result he wants, though.”

“Whyever not?” Laslow said, forcing his tone to stay light even as the trail of the conversation led deeper and deeper into discomfort.

“His Majesty and His Grace are good friends,” Iago said. “But friendship won’t cover everything… Mm, and you see, Diabola is the most well-equipped territory in the entire empire to handle a threat like this. Why should His Grace abuse that friendship by bringing Krakenburg into the matter? It sets such a poor precedent for the rest of the land…” Another smirk. “And _that_ will be my advice to His Majesty. Though I’m sure he’s already planning along the same lines… he and I think very alike, you see.”

Laslow had to gather his breath for a moment before he could keep his response level. “So the best way to repay such a friendship is to do nothing in return,” he said. “Even when it’s entirely within one’s power. Because it sets a ‘poor precedent.’”

“Politics,” Iago replied lightly. “Such complicated things. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand yourself; commoners rarely do.”

Laslow bit back the urge to reply that he’d been involved in the politics of basically every major power in the entire world by the time he’d been in his twentieth year. _That_ would raise several inconvenient questions, such as _What exactly is an Exalt?_ and _Just where did you say Ylisse was?_ Instead, he merely forced his tone to nonchalant evenness and replied, “I suppose not.”

Even though he really would’ve rather snapped _I’ve technically ruled the entire world, which is a fair bit higher than I imagine_ your _ambitions will ever take you._

“Well, good to know where the dice are likely to fall,” Laslow finally continued. “Thanks for the heads up. I think I’m going to go see about supper.”

“Lovely talk,” Iago called, directing a delicate wave in Laslow’s direction.

Laslow himself resisted the urge to shudder and sent a prayer to Naga—if she could even hear him here—that he wouldn’t have to spend too much time in the tactician’s presence once they made it to Krakenburg.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—May 8, 635**

“Leooooo,” Elise whined, nearly having to trot to keep up with her elder brother’s longer strides. “I don’t see why you aren’t helping me get out of this!”

“Because,” Leo said, his tone lofty even as he slowed his pace the slightest bit once he realized just how much trouble she was having to maintain pace with him. “I’ve been attending meetings of the royal court since I was twelve. You’ve managed to get an extra year in, which _hardly_ seems fair to me.”

“But it’s so _boring,”_ Elise huffed, her lower lip sticking out in a petulant pout.

“Indeed,” said Leo, his tone neutral. “But necessary for the health and well-being of the realm.”

“What about _my_ health and well-being?” asked Elise. “What if I _die_ of boredom? What will you do then?”

“I’ll make a speech at your funeral,” Leo replied.

 _“Hey!”_ Elise cried, whacking at his shoulder. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Leo!”

Leo merely quirked a brow in her direction, ignoring the snigger of laughter that sounded from behind him—Niles. “Whoever said I was nice?”

Interjecting, Niles said, “No one would ever accuse you of _that,_ milord. And I’m fairly certain you won’t die of boredom, Lady Elise.”

“But the potential still _exists!”_ she said.

“If you feel such a thing incoming, you need only alert me, Lady Elise!” said Effie. “I will spirit you away from the danger, no matter the cost!”

“You do realize it’s not _actually_ possible to die of boredom, right?” Leo put in once more.

“How do _you_ know that?”

“Because no one ever has?” he remarked dryly.

Elise huffed again, her pigtails whirling as she spun to face him. “You were just saying the other day that it’s… it’s…” She trailed off, then pointed as the words came to her. “That it’s impossible to prove a negative! So you can’t say no one has ever died of boredom, because you can’t possibly know how every single person has ever died, ever! So there!”

Leo stared at her for a moment—her argument _was_ logical, even if her actual position was ridiculous. “I’m not going to continue this discussion with you,” he finally sighed.

“Because you know you’re _losing!”_ she taunted, putting her hands on her hips. “Hey, wait for me!”

“Catch up yourself,” he replied over his shoulder, though the words held no venom. His sister and the eclectic trio of their combined retainers followed after.

Niles and Arthur were both familiar presences in the castle, though Effie was a recent addition to the fold. She’d been knighted the previous winter, the same as Silas, and though Leo hadn’t been in Windmire at the time he’d heard the tale of Elise immediately claiming her as a retainer for reasons the both of them had remained tight-lipped on.

It was odd, Leo thought with a subtle backward glance, that Nohr’s youngest princess was the only one in the family to have two retainers, while the crown prince himself currently had none.

They turned a corner before he had time to dwell on that, the four door guards hurriedly bowing as Leo and Elise passed. Beyond them, the room opened up like a vast amphitheater, as though the court itself was nothing more than a grand opera that just so happened to decide the fate of the country.

Leo supposed the raised dais upon which the royal family was seated would serve as the stage in that comparison, and he gave nods and muted greetings to the nobles who had taken to assembling early as he made his way there. A few whispers traveled down from the mezzanine above, as well, for those who were high enough up the social ladder to be granted the gift of _observing_ the royal court but not quite high enough for the privilege of _participating_ in it.

The three retainers split from their lieges at the bottom of the dais to take up their lowered but still front-and-center posts. Only Beruka was there for them to join, silent as ever—despite the fact that both of the older royal siblings were already present. As the two royals proceeded up the steps, Leo nudged at Elise’s elbow, offering her the slightest of reassuring smiles he hoped she would take as genuine. She seemed to, at least judging by the slightly wobbly grin she offered in return as they parted ways—Leo to stage right, beside Xander, and Elise to the left, beside Camilla.

“Good morning,” Xander greeted under his breath as Leo passed; the younger prince acknowledged it with merely a nod.

Garon’s seat, on the other side of Xander, still remained empty, as did the perpetually open chair to his left that would have held Nohr’s queen if she had one. Out in the east wing, Leo caught a glimpse of Duke Wilhelm, though he dared not give the man more than the briefest second of eye contact. Despite his support for the Diabolan duke, he doubted his methods would have much effect.

Other nobility began to file in, single-file and in small groups, taking their seats throughout the room. Finally, with a burst of fanfare, the great doors opened a little wider, then shut tight in the immediate wake of King Garon.

Leo took in a breath, glanced away from his father, and let the air out in slow increments.

~~~

Laslow had certainly woken in more unpleasant ways.

But Laslow had certainly woken in more _pleasant_ ways, too.

 _“—I swear to every single god that if you’re in one of your stupid comas again—”_ came Selena’s voice, drifting into his waking awareness just before the heavy _thump_ of a pillow came down on his head.

“Buh?” Laslow managed eloquently, still not quite coordinated enough to dodge her next assault and definitely not coherent enough to remember their aliases. “Severa I’m awake I’m awake—”

 _“The court meeting—”_ Selena continued, punctuating her words with yet another whack, _“—starts in—”_ whack, _“—ten minutes!”_ This sentence ended with three more whacks, and only then did Laslow manage to duck and roll off the bed and out of her reach.

He landed in an unceremonious heap that at least jolted him thoroughly awake, though it took another moment for him to get his bearings enough for her words to sink in. “Wait, what?”

“I waited for you at breakfast,” Selena snapped, the pillow still held threateningly in her grasp. “And you didn’t show up. So I thought maybe you’d skipped. But eventually I got worried and I guess I should’ve been because I find you in here _still asleep!_ Now _get dressed_ for gods’ sakes!”

“I’m not getting dressed in front of you!” Laslow protested, clambering to his feet.

“Should’ve thought of that earlier,” Selena grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. Laslow let out a muted wail. “I’ll close my eyes,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Laslow whined again, despite the fact he knew his friend well enough to realize even endless protestings wouldn’t budge her. “We shouldn’t have bothered convincing you to come,” he muttered, rummaging through his bags.

“Oh, like you and Odin would survive out here by yourself,” Selena replied, likely rolling her eyes again under the cover of her hand. “I’m the only reason you’re both still breathing.”

“Yeah right.” Laslow paused, then, his shirt halfway over his head as another disgruntled sound rose in his throat. “Selena, we’re not even _invited_ to the bloody court meeting, the hell are you doing this for?”

“There’s a _viewing_ area, you dolt!” she shot back, giving a threatening wave of the pillow still in her free hand. “We’re going to go _watch!_ And see what happens! And definitely _not_ get involved, at this point, because we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves when we haven’t even figured out how to blend in yet, don’t you _dare_ start, I don’t even have to _look_ at you to know what you’re thinking—”

“Selena, I don’t even know what I’m thinking right now, I’ve been awake for two and a half minutes!” Letting out a sigh, Laslow muttered under his breath, _“Say’ri_ never woke me up like this.”

“Yeah, well, you may have noticed that I’m not her and I’m _definitely_ not married to you, so you get the pillow. Also, quit talking about her, you’ve been making a weird enough impression around here when people _don’t_ think you managed to get—” Selena broke off, then mouthed the word _married._

“Sure, thanks a lot, what a lovely boost to my self-esteem you’re giving me,” Laslow said. He made the executive decision it wasn’t worth looking for matching socks when Selena was somehow managing to glare at him _through_ her hand. “And what do you mean, a weird enough impression?”

 _“You’ve_ gone back to your old habits,” Selena told him, her tone more than faintly accusing.

“The maid was very helpful!” Laslow protested. “Am I not allowed to be grateful?”

“Someday I’m going to give you a taste of your own daft medicine,” she said. “Also, I’m opening my eyes in five seconds, so you better be dressed.”

Laslow made out a sound that resembled _eep_ rather than bothering with a coherent response.

~~~

If they hadn’t been running late already, then Castle Krakenburg’s maze of hallways would have made them that way. Laslow wasn’t sure just _how_ late they were, but he had a feeling the answer was _very._

“I hate you I hate you I hate you,” Selena muttered under her breath as she half-trotted on his heels. “You’re going to be late to your own bloody funeral and _I’m_ not even sure I’m going to be there myself at this point.”

“I was late to my own birth, does that count?” Laslow asked with a wry grin.

“Because you weren’t _in_ Ylisstol when Azur was born!” Selena shot back under her breath. “That doesn’t count at all! Although it does show a pattern of behavior—”

She broke off abruptly as they rounded a corner. A tall double doorway stood ahead of them, flanked by two guards on each side.

“Oh,” Laslow said lightly, his words betraying none of the seething irritation rolling off Selena in waves. “Don’t suppose you folks know where the royal court is meeting?”

The guards exchanged glances, seemingly puzzled by the odd and slightly breathless duo in front of them. “This is the courtroom,” the young woman left of center finally said.

“Oh, ta, dove, much appreciated,” Laslow said, striding forward and reaching for the handle. “And if I may just say, you look positively _radiant_ today.”

The woman seemed briefly flustered, but recovered quickly. “Wait,” she said. “But you can’t—”

Her sentence was lost to Laslow’s ears, though, as the door swung open before him.

She had probably been saying, he realized belatedly, that he _couldn’t go in there._

Because he had definitely not stumbled his way into the viewing area.

A short hallway stretched out in front of him, flanked on both sides by pretentious and ostentatiously dressed nobility. At the end stood four more guards at attention: a woman in armor that probably weighed more than Laslow himself; a square-jawed man outfitted in red and blue that stood stark contrast to the more muted apparel the rest of the room sported; a tiny, blue-haired woman sporting a glower; and a man with an eyepatch who looked to be about half a second away from tossing some hidden weapon straight into Laslow’s heart.

And, if that weren’t bad enough, a sallow-skinned mountain of a man sat on the dais above them—his words having fallen silent at the creak of the door—whose sheer presence alone identified him as none other than King Garon.

 _Well,_ Laslow thought, sparing the rest of the royal family a perfunctory glance before focusing once more one Nohr’s monarch. _That happened._

Then he shrugged and decided he might as well roll with it.

“Sorry we’re late,” he said in a lilting tone, tilting his head up to fix the king with a winning smile. “Did we miss anything important?”

Behind him, Selena let out a terribly familiar sigh before muttering, “You are the stupidest man alive.”


	11. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Can you feel the rush? Taking over all your senses,  
>  Can you feel the rush? Breaking down all your defenses,  
> Can you feel the rush? Racing with no consequences,  
> Adrenaline, it's like a drug, the more you taste can't get enough..._

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—May 8, 635**

Staring death in the face, Laslow had learned over the years, was a very distinctive feeling.

He felt it then.

Nearly a full minute stretched out like an hour as the entire royal court stared down at the two new arrivals. Laslow had a feeling he would have keeled over on the spot a few years ago from that fact alone, even without the frosty gaze of King Garon.

Laslow grew more and more certain, as the moments passed, that when the king spoke it was going to be an order for whatever Nohr’s preferred method of execution was. For the second time since he’d come to Nohr, he found himself thinking of Walhart—of being told he was little more than blood to be spilt and trampled underfoot.

“Who,” Garon finally ground out, “are you?”

Forcing himself to push aside his macabre thoughts and inject his tone once more with lightness, Laslow gave a bow that was far closer to something Olivia had taught him than what Say’ri had. “Laslow, Your Majesty. And this is my friend Selena.” Selena pointedly did not answer; Laslow hadn’t really thought she was likely to have forgiven his latest blunder in the last thirty seconds and didn’t press her for one.

It had, however, taken everything in him not to answer _Prince Inigo of Chon’sin;_ if the problems here could have been solved with royal titles and brute force, Anankos would have called upon Chrom rather than Inigo. He thought, wistfully, of what it would have been like to have the entire might of the reunited Shepherds behind him in this strange land. (Gaius probably would have ended up taking a swim in the Tiefgrund if Vaike had been with them, considering that even after four years the thief had yet to take the traditional matrimonial dunking, but that was beside the point.)

Still, Laslow could all but feel how the lack of _any_ titles stuck in the air. The court’s combined gaze of astonishment only seemed to grow thicker; the younger prince in particular, he noticed, seemed to be staring at Laslow like he was an especially perplexing puzzle to be solved.

“And what,” the king continued, “are you doing here?”

Laslow did not have an especially brilliant answer for that—he was fairly sure admitting he’d ended up at the wrong door but had still waltzed in like he owned the place would not bode well for his chances of survival.

But if there was _one_ thing he had learned in his years of politicking, one phrase he’d summarily held dear, it was a quote his father had smirkingly bestowed on him in the midst of the post-Valm War peace talks.

_If you can’t dazzle them with your brilliance, baffle them with your bull._

“We got an invitation,” Laslow said, making a sudden show of patting at his breast pocket, then making a face as it summarily came up empty. “Didn’t we get an invitation, Selena?”

He shot her a pleading look that said _Play along,_ and despite the slight roll of her eyes and muted sigh she sent in his direction, she did. “Yeah,” she said. “We did. What, did you _lose_ it? Gawds, Laslow, I told you to let me keep it—”

Laslow glanced up, then, catching a glimpse of Wilhelm from the corner of his eye. The duke had a defeated expression on his face, then seemed to clear his throat as if he were about to speak up. Laslow hurriedly caught his gaze and gave a soft shake of his head; _he_ was the one who had gotten them into this immediate mess, while Wilhelm’s only crime in the matter was being hospitable.

“So anyways,” Laslow continued before the duke could interject, “I can personally assure you, Your Majesty, that we _did_ have an invitation, and this is all perfectly legitimate and above-board—”

“And I suppose,” Garon interjected, “your personal assurances are supposed to mean something to me?”

Laslow held his arms out to the side and shrugged. “Well, I _have_ been told in the past that I’m very trustworthy,” he said lightly. “I’ve also been told that I’m quite the charming rogue, as well, but I’m sure _that’s_ obvious to the naked eye and rather beside the point of the conversation—”

“Sit. Down,” Garon ground out.

Thinking that was likely as good as he was going to get with the king’s patience obviously wearing thin, and recognizing that being told to sit down wasn’t the same as being kicked out or killed, Laslow promptly shut up, offered another bow, and headed for an open seat on the fringes.

“You are such an idiot,” Selena muttered as she dropped down beside him.

“Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it?” Laslow whispered back. “And now we’ve got front row seats.” He paused, having to peer around a few heads to get a good glimpse of the proceedings. “Well, they’re not the _greatest_ seats, I suppose… Think anyone would switch?”

Selena only answered that with a swift meeting of her hand and the back of his head.

After several more moments of awkward silence—and several gazes still boring into the back of Laslow’s head—King Garon resumed the speech he’d been making before the untimely interruption. The words were generic enough that Laslow didn’t have to pay complete attention, instead peering at where the younger of the two princes—Leo or Xander, he assumed, though he wasn’t sure which one was which—leaned up to whisper something to the elder, the faintest of smirks on his features. Presumably his words were about Laslow himself, judging by the way the prince’s gaze flicked over to him as he spoke; the elder brother, however, made no move to respond beyond a small shake of his head and a disapproving downturn of his lips.

 _Stick in the mud,_ Laslow thought, despite the fact he didn’t have a clue about what Leo-or-Xander had actually said. It could have been terribly unflattering, for all he knew.

He did perk up and pay attention as Garon ceded the floor to Wilhelm, however, who gave a concise but detailed explanation of Diabola’s current crisis. His proposed solution was short and simple as well—he asked merely to be loaned any troops that could be spared from elsewhere in the country and for the aid of any mages with expertise willing to travel—including a request for the return of Prince Leo, evidently a mage himself, though Wilhelm was not kind enough to give Laslow any other hint on which prince was which.

Overall, his request was not unreasonable. Laslow had a feeling that if Diabola were a Chon’sinian holding rather than a Nohrian one, he and Say’ri would have spent a grand total of about ten minutes hashing out the specific details before ceding to Wilhelm’s request.

Unfortunately, Diabola _was_ a Nohrian holding, and as such what followed was a painful hour-and-a-half of bureaucratic back-and-forth.

A viscount from the south held that Cheve was still too volatile for him to afford to pull _any_ of his troops, to which Wilhelm argued that they’d hardly heard a peep out of Cheve since January and that he wasn’t asking for any of the troops currently enforcing martial law there to be pulled. (He also pointed out, rather snidely, that he’d fought in Cheve personally last winter, no thanks to said southern viscount, and Laslow quietly filed that tidbit of history away for later.)

One duchess countered that the mages Wilhelm requested were not so easy to come by; the duke replied that Diabola’s emphasis was on _physical_ fighters and she had more mages living in her capital city than he did in his entire territory.

“Nonetheless,” the duchess said, her voice chilly, “I’m afraid that Macarath cannot offer you any aid.”

Wilhelm sighed, his face resigned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well,” Laslow said, the words falling past his lips without his conscious permission, “Sounds to me like you’re all just being selfish.”

He earned a couple of looks from that—some dark and offended, some merely astonished. He colored a little, shrugged, and leaned back nonchalantly.

Selena, meanwhile, none-too-subtly pinched his arm. “Are you _trying_ to get us killed?” she hissed.

Laslow shrugged again. “Just saying.”

Another nobleman, among the half of the room that was giving him a dirty stare, let it fall heavily upon him for a moment more before he continued to speak. “Let it be known that I do sympathize with your situation, Your Grace, but—” He broke off as Laslow coughed pointedly.

“I wasn’t finished.”

His words came easily, but with a power that had taken him years to craft. There was another conspicuous edge of _Prince Inigo of Chon’sin_ to his words, but even more than that his voice carried the timber of the Exalt of a broken world—one who had led his troops and his friends through fire and had brought them out alive.

And one who had stared a god in the face and come out the other side.

“This is my first experience with Faceless in particular,” Laslow said. “But I know how these things work. They will _spread._ And it won’t just be Diabola in trouble anymore.” Once more, he offered another shrug. “But I suppose people dying doesn’t matter, so long as it’s not in _your_ backyard, hmm?”

The latest nobleman bristled, looking as though he had a hot retort on his lips when another voice interjected.

“That’s enough.”

Laslow winced—from both King Garon’s glare on one side and Selena’s on the other. That probably _had_ been an overstep—he’d have been getting a look even from Say’ri if he’d made such a comment in his own home, after all. Still, he’d hardly had a chance to defend himself when there was movement just off one side of the dais.

“Your Majesty,” Iago interjected in his familiar oily voice, ascending the steps of the dais without hesitation. “If I might speak with you privately for but a moment?”

Garon hesitated a moment, then acquiesced, “Very well.”

Iago planted himself in front of the king’s chair, then, rather than either of them bothering to leave as they spoke in hushed whispers. “Er…” Laslow finally said under his breath, shooting a glance at Selena.

“I don’t have anything left to say to you,” Selena said, staring pointedly ahead. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Great,” said Laslow.

After a small eternity, Garon finally raised his voice to audible levels. “Xander.”

“Yes, Father?” the elder prince answered, finally giving Laslow a clue as to which one was which. He still didn’t know anything about the two princesses on the king’s other side, but at least he was making progress.

“You are still in need of a retainer, are you not?”

The king’s words seemed to hang in the air for a long moment before his son grudgingly answered. “Indeed, I am,” Xander said.

“Then I wish you to take Laslow.”

A beat passed, a murmur spreading over the room. “Wait, what?” Laslow said to Selena.

She finally looked over at him, her eyes wide, and echoed his sentiment with a “Huh?”

Another moment passed as they whispered until Xander spoke again. “Of course, Father, if those are your wishes,” he said, seeming to weigh his words. “Though I would wish to test him in combat first.”

“Did I make a better impression on Iago than I thought?” Laslow continued.

“Shut up and listen,” Selena snapped.

The king fixed his gaze once more upon Laslow. “Upon my son’s agreement,” he said, “you will take an oath to defend his life from any and all threats and to serve him however he may need you. Do you agree to this?”

Laslow thought briefly to ask if he had a choice in the matter, then decided from the king’s expression his other options were likely to be significantly more unpleasant than the one currently offered. “Okay, sure, sounds great,” he managed, his voice slightly strangled. “When do I start?”

Garon didn’t answer for a long moment, leaving an opening for Xander. “I will arrange to have you fetched at five o’clock tonight,” he said. “Come prepared for a duel. What weapon do you favor?”

Head still spinning, Laslow said, “The sword, Your Highness.”

Xander nodded sharply and promptly closed the discussion. “Very well. I return to you the floor, Duke Wilhelm. My apologies for the interruption.”

Wilhelm nodded, turned his attention back to the man Laslow had interrupted, and the discussion continued.

Laslow, meanwhile, could only throw Selena a helpless gesture. “What the hell just happened?”

~~~

At least, Leo thought, Elise hadn’t been complaining about dying of boredom anymore.

“You’re going through with this,” he said upon reaching Xander’s side, drawing his cloak in tighter around himself. His brother had on a similar garment to protect him from Nohr’s evening chill, surely to be discarded upon the actual beginning of the duel. Leo shot a short glance around the grounds, confirmed that the interloping duo of Laslow and Selena were not yet present, and proceeded to speak his thoughts. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Father made his decision,” Xander said neutrally, though Leo managed to pick on the _slightest_ sound of discontent in his brother’s tone. Good.

“It’s _your_ retainer, shouldn’t you have a veto power?” Leo prodded. “It’s not like you’re _completely_ helpless, Xander, that you’ve got to pick up the first git who wanders in off the street—”

“You’re hardly in a position to speak on _that_ matter, Leo,” Xander said, raising a brow in his brother’s direction.

Leo bristled—maybe Xander was _right,_ but after almost five years of service Niles had proved himself a hundred times over despite his inauspicious beginnings. “That’s hardly the point,” Leo replied, then glanced over. “Camilla, will you make him see _reason?”_ he continued as his two sisters joined the cluster.

“My, what reason?” Camilla asked, keeping a light hand on Elise’s shoulder. “To dress a little warmer? Xander, aren’t you chilled?”

“I’m fine, Camilla,” Xander said. “And you, Leo, are taking this too seriously. I arranged this test for a reason; Father’s decision may be odd, but he will not saddle me with someone incompetent.”

Leo let out a disgruntled little noise, but didn’t have time to protest further when the object of their conversation came into view.

Laslow did not carry himself like a commoner. He strode from the sidelines like a general of two decades despite the fact he couldn’t have been more than a handful of years older than Leo himself. Selena followed slightly behind, still with the cross expression Leo hadn’t yet seen her without, seemingly muttering as she followed.

Xander, meanwhile, broke from the knot of the royal family. “Good evening, Laslow,” he called, marching toward the center of the ring. They’d taken a slot out of the palace guard’s training schedule for this, and a cluster of armed soldiers had gathered around the sidelines along with a healthy population of the morning’s court. “I’ve arranged for a variety of the guards’ weapons,” he said, gesturing to a crate along the fenceline. “You may take the first pick.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Laslow said, then lifted his left arm slightly to gesture at the sword on his hip with his other hand. “I brought my own.”

Xander quirked a brow. _“Training_ weapons,” he added slowly.

“What, wood?” Laslow asked, tilting his head. “I thought you wanted to see me _fight._ You told me to come equipped, didn’t you?”

Gods, but the _arrogance,_ Leo thought, nearly choking on the mixture of amusement and sheer aversion rising in his throat.

Xander only folded his arms, however. “You wish to fight with live weapons,” he said flatly.

“Well, I’ve got to get a handle on how you fight too, don’t I?”

A beat passed. “Silas,” said Xander, turning toward where the young knight stood on the fringes. “Fetch my armor, please. And Siegfried.”

Silas nodded and took off for the castle, while Leo wondered if his elder brother’s plan included simply _killing_ Laslow in protest to Garon’s decision. Would his brother ever dare be that rebellious? “You may fetch your own armor if you wish, since we are already delayed,” Xander offered, but Laslow only shook his head.

“I don’t really do armor,” he said, merely shrugging. He had a small shield hanging on his arm, but other than that he could have been merely dressed for the servants’ dinner in a collared white shirt and dark pants. His sword did break that illusion a little, Leo thought, trying to get a better glimpse at the oddly shaped handle. Was that writing on the hilt? It wasn’t in any language he happened to know.

Leo shook his head and settled in to wait with the restless crowd.

As the minutes passed, though, it became clear that Laslow and Selena were muttering about some such thing or another, and Leo shot a glance down the fenceline. There was enough of a crowd for him to blend in if he crept toward them, and eavesdropping on a pair that Iago had for some reason endorsed did not seem like a bad idea.

“...think there’s something in the water?” Laslow was asking under his breath when Leo neared.

“What?” asked Selena, shooting him a puzzled look.

“I mean, did you _look_ at them? They’re all _giants,”_ Laslow continued, nodding slightly toward Xander. “Even the weedy looking prince has got to be eye-to-eye with my father.”

Leo bristled again. He was not _weedy,_ thank you very much—although, compared to Xander or his father, he supposed it _could_ be a somewhat apt comparison…

“Oh, shut up,” Selena said.

“No, really, I think there is,” Laslow said. “The little girl is as tall as you, I bet you.”

Selena rolled her eyes and shushed him once more. This time, he seemed to listen.

For a moment.

“I hope there’s something in the water,” Laslow said wistfully. “I could use some of that— _ow!”_

 _Serves you right,_ Leo thought, both offended by Laslow’s description of him and relieved that they didn’t seem to be currently plotting an Iago-sponsored coup. Not that he imagined Iago would align himself with anyone stupid enough to make treasonous plans within earshot of the royal family. He made his way back toward Xander.

“Odin doesn’t get any of the water,” Laslow’s words drifted after him; then, _“Selena!”_

Leo rolled his eyes and glanced back toward the castle. The sooner Silas returned with Xander’s things, the sooner they could get this over with and hopefully send the odd pair packing.

Thankfully, Silas did return with all haste, though getting Xander into all his armor was as lengthy a process as ever. Leo had offered his magical expertise a while back to lighten his brother’s suit the same way he had his own, but Xander had refused, saying he was used to the weight. Leo had tried not to take it as an insult (that _Leo_ couldn’t handle the weight), because someone would have had to pay him a great deal of money to go back to an unenchanted suit of armor.

(Corrin has teased him, once, that he ought to find an enchantment that made him put all his clothes on right-side-out, and the memory of that conversation made him want to laugh and blush alike.)

Finally, though, Xander strapped Siegfried to his hip and looked once more across the ground. “Laslow?”

“Oh, you done?” Laslow called back. He’d propped himself up on the fence to wait, his heel hooked on one of the lower rails and his elbow resting on the top; now, though, he pushed away from the fence and strolled over. Once he reached the middle, he offered a bow that would have looked more at home in a Cyrkensian theater than on the dueling ground, then straightened with a smirk.

A smirk that only seemed more out of place as Xander approached. Laslow barely came up to Xander’s shoulder, and with considerations for armor, Leo guessed that he was probably only a little over half his weight. Wordlessly, the crown prince drew Siegfried; the greatsword, too, was a time and a half the length of Laslow’s blade.

Leo focused, if only because he had a feeling if he blinked he would miss the entire fight.

The duel began without ceremony when both blades were drawn. The crowd’s murmur descended to a hush, a few coins visibly changing hands. Leo wondered if they were being bet on the outcome or merely on the amount of time it would take Xander to win.

For a long moment, the two merely circled—gauging the footing, the lighting, their opponent’s stance before coming to blows. Laslow finally swung, though his blade slid harmlessly off Siegfried and Leo didn’t have a clue what sort of opening he thought he’d been aiming for. He did it again a moment later to the same result. Xander hardly budged but for what he had to do to block the blow—likely, Leo thought, he would simply wait for Laslow to wear himself out before bringing his true skill into play.

Laslow struck again, this time a series of blows that _forced_ Xander to move simply from their speed even though none of them connected properly. Finally, looking more irritated than anything, Xander returned the favor with a long, sideways sweep with the flat of his blade; it wouldn’t cut Laslow in half, but it would certainly smart.

Or it would have, if Laslow had still been there.

He hadn’t parried, or tried to catch the blade on his shield—both perfectly viable options. Laslow simply _moved,_ a lightness in his steps that Leo had never seen the likes of. No sooner had he stepped out of the way did he make his move again, this time quickly enough that his blade hit the side of Xander’s armor with a clang rather than Siegfried itself.

And then, like the strike of a match, the fight changed.

Xander stopped playing. And so did Laslow.

Whereas before Leo had been able to see every move telegraphed openly, now he could scarcely tell where one strike ended and the next began. Blows and parries traded so quickly the two swords blurred, footsteps scuffling in the sand as the whole arena became their battlefield rather than the few square feet they’d been using before.

Laslow hit once, twice, thrice, with a speed and force that actually sent Xander stumbling back half a step. An incredulous sound rose in Leo’s throat—he’d been watching his elder brother fight since he was old enough to walk down to the training grounds, and never had he seen Xander anywhere _near_ defeated in single combat—

_Who in gods’ names was this man and where did he come from?_

Xander never managed to hit home, either—Laslow caught or dodged every strike, the edge of that maddening smirk still plastered on his face. Once he even let out a bark of laughter before pivoting once more.

The crown prince caught the next blow, however, and held it, bearing down with a force that Leo knew from experience had to be devastating. The height and weight difference alone would be a damning defeat to Laslow, and from their positions the smaller man would hardly be able to duck out without catching the edge of a very sharp and very deadly blade.

No sooner had Leo thought that, though, did Laslow drop, spin, and break free without a scratch on him.

“What in the name of…” Leo murmured aloud, though no one answered him.

Xander stepped back, giving another wide swing that he surely expected Laslow to dodge as easily as he had before. This time, inexplicably, he planted his feet and held.

Siegfried landed with a _clang_ that by all rights should have broken the other blade.

Laslow sword didn’t break, though it wrenched from his hand and went skidding across the sand. Laslow himself merely smiled, holding his hands out to the side and offering Xander another grin.

“Well fought, Your Highness.”

The crowd seemed to release the collective breath they’d been holding, voices and laughter sweeping over them as money changed hands once more. Leo did not join in—instead he merely sent a narrow-eyed glare at Laslow that went soundly ignored.

Xander took a moment to compose himself, giving Laslow a short once-over before finally speaking. “As my retainer,” he said, “you may refer to me as Lord Xander.”

Another murmur went over the crowd and Laslow offered another bow. “Then well fought, Lord Xander. If I may…?” He gestured to his fallen sword, bending to retrieve it at Xander’s nod.

After another beat, Xander cleared his throat. “Silas,” he said, looking back toward the crowd. “Show Laslow to his quarters and brief him on his duties.” He looked back at Laslow. “I expect you to report to me at six o’clock tomorrow.”

A touch of Laslow’s cockiness—and the color in his face—faded at that statement. “You want me how early?”

Xander ignored him and strode for the castle. The crowd dispersed and followed in his wake.

“Well,” came Niles’s low voice in Leo’s ear. “Wasn’t that interesting?”

 _Interesting is one way of putting it,_ Leo thought.

Niles hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose size isn’t everything,” he mused in his familiar lecherous tone, blatantly looking Laslow up and down. “It’s how you use it.”

Leo let out a loud sigh he hoped would distract from the immediate flush of his cheeks, then cleared his throat. “Do our new servant a favor,” he said quietly. “Help Laslow move his things into his new quarters.”

A beat passed before the slightest of smirks tipped Niles’s lips. “Understood, milord,” he replied.

Leo nodded to himself. That was one thing taken care of, at least—if Laslow was any sort of immediate threat he trusted Niles to stumble upon it. If he wasn’t an _immediate_ threat…

He’d have many close eyes on him.

Leo turned to leave as well, watching an all-too-eager Silas talking with Laslow, although the young knight sounded more interested in picking up swordplay tips from the newcomer rather than actually ‘briefing’ him.

If he hadn’t looked down at the exact moment he did, he would have missed it.

 _Something_ glinted in the sand, not quite metallic but a definite shade of golden-bronze. Leo took three steps to the side and bent down, scuffing the sand out of the way before grasping it.

A tiny lock of Xander’s hair hung from between his pinched fingers.

Years of practiced stoicism kept Leo from gasping aloud, although he would be lying if he didn’t admit his eyes had almost bugged out of his head. The cut was perfectly clean, as if shorn by scissors, yet Leo had been close enough to know Xander hadn’t had so much as a nick on head or neck.

Still squatting on the ground, Leo looked up once more.

Xander’s new retainer stood with all nonchalance, mere minutes after throwing the fight with his new liege, his hands hanging from his swordbelt, looking for all the world entirely engaged in what Silas was telling him. He must have caught a glimpse of Leo from the corner of his eye, though, because he turned his head slightly, his gaze deliberately going from Leo’s face to the strands of hair in his grasp.

A beat passed; Leo felt, for a minute, as though he’d been caught stealing dessert from the kitchens.

And then Laslow winked.


	12. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laslow settles into retainer life—if it could be called 'settling.'

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—May 9, 635**

Laslow’s repugnantly early morning actually went relatively smoothly, all things considered. Xander didn’t ask all that much of him on the first morning; Silas carried the bulk of the work. Whether their boss was especially easygoing or he simply had painfully low expectations for Laslow remained to be seen, but he had a sinking feeling it was unlikely to be the former.

They were _not_ invited to that morning’s meeting of the court, despite the fact that Silas had informed him the four guards he’d noted the previous day were the retainers of the younger siblings. Laslow would have to beg the details off Selena later—provided she was in a good enough mood to humor him, which probably wasn’t a guarantee.

Silas’s ongoing mission of getting Laslow up to speed ended up in the stables by that afternoon. Laslow had to move Scottie in with the other retainers’ horses anyway, which hadn’t taken terribly long, and now Silas was taking him through the long and winding barn aisleways.

“Tiny Dancer was Lady Elise’s pony,” the knight was saying, offering pats to a small gray mare who had stuck her head out of the stall at their approach. “She’s nearly outgrown her now, though, so she got to pick a new mount for her birthday.” He gestured to a bay across the aisle. “That’s Freddy.”

Laslow couldn’t quite contain the muffled squeak that escaped him at that; the Elise/Ylisse dichotomy had been unsettling enough from the moment he’d learned the younger princess’s name, but to learn that her _mount_ had the same title as Ylisse’s Knight Commander…

Not to mention Lilith.

Nohr, he had decided, just got weirder by the moment.

Silas shot him an odd look but continued on merrily. “So Freddy shares his sire, Garmr—Iago rides him, usually, though he’s getting a bit old for a destrier—with Lord Xander and Lord Leo’s horses. They’re full siblings, actually, and boy do they look it.” He chuckled, reaching for a huge but doe-eyed black head that emerged with ears pricked. “They don’t act like it, though. Here, this is Skoll—”

From the stall next door, a loud _bang_ sounded, followed by an almost identical looking horse lunging from his stall with teeth bared and ears pinned.

“And that’s Hati,” Silas continued dryly. Hati almost seemed to sneer at the sound of his name, giving Silas and Laslow one last cold glare before slinking back into his stall.

“...Tell me Skoll is Lord Xander’s,” Laslow said, trying to keep his tone light but finding a note of desperation had crept into it anyway.

Silas gave him a grave look for a moment, letting the tension build, but he quickly broke into another chuckle, the moment lost. “Yeah, he is. Lord Leo barely ever lets anyone else _touch_ Hati, so you don’t have to worry about him too much. Just don’t get too close.”

“Duly noted,” Laslow said dryly, reaching out to offer his own affection to Skoll. The warhorse seemed liable to fall asleep under their ministrations, his eyelids falling and his head drooping—he scarcely seemed like a warhorse at all at that moment. They remained at his stall for a few minutes, absently chatting about the equines of Nohr—a topic neutral enough to not be invasive, as well as one Silas seemed to be quite passionate about—until they began to wander again, Silas volunteering to show Laslow where Xander and Leo’s tackroom was.

Laslow gave his new compatriot a sidelong glance as they walked. Silas seemed like a decent enough kid—though Laslow couldn’t help but think of him as anything _but_ a kid. Logic dictated he couldn’t be that young, despite his youthful features; he was already a full-fledged knight, after all.

“So,” Laslow finally ventured, finding a roundabout way of gathering information on the topic. “How long have you been Xan—Lord Xander’s retainer?”

“Oh,” said Silas in an oddly quiet tone. He shoved his hands in his pockets, not speaking again for a long moment. “I’m not Lord Xander’s retainer.”

“You’re not?” Laslow’s brow furrowed. “But you’re the one doing everything for him.”

“Yeah,” said Silas dryly. “All the responsibilities and none of the privileges.” When Laslow still gave him a puzzled look, he continued, “Lord Xander hasn’t got any retainers at the moment—or, well, he didn’t until yesterday, at least, so I’ve been filling in the gap. I was set to be Lord _Leo’s_ retainer back at the beginning of the year, actually, but… It’s a long story. Er, don’t worry, though, I’m sure I’ll be sticking around until you’re up to speed.”

Laslow felt an unexpected surge of disappointment at that—he and Silas had actually been getting along rather well, for all the obvious differences between them. Not the least of which was the age gap; after a moment, he decided there wouldn’t be any harm in asking directly. “If you don’t mind, Silas… how old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” he answered, while Laslow tried not to let it shock him too much. The end of his own eighteenth year had seen him shipping off to Valm after all, two years deep into his second timeline and a few scant weeks away from meeting his past heroine and future wife. “I’m a day younger than Lady Corrin, actually. Here’s the tack room, by the way,” he added, reaching for a set of keys as the two stopped in front of a heavy wooden doorway. “I’ll have Lord Xander get you a key.”

Laslow felt his confusion rise again, rejecting the belief that Silas could be the same age as the buxom, purple-haired princess he’d gotten glimpses of, before remembering that she was Lady _Camilla._ “Which one is Lady Corrin…?” he asked, struggling to put a face to the name and coming up blank.

“Oh! You haven’t met her yet,” Silas explained. “She’s the middle child—between Lady Camilla and Lord Leo—but she doesn’t live in Krakenburg. She has, um…” He gestured vaguely. “Health issues and stuff, so she lives in a small fortress about an hour north of here. Her siblings visit her a lot, though, so you’ll probably get to go up there sooner or later.” The edge of a fond smile came to his features. “She’s great, really. A life like that would get a lot of people down, but… not her.”

“I see,” Laslow said, his tone neutral. “So… does Lady Corrin often regale you with long and imperious tales of wisdom about ‘when she was your age’ and then proceed to tell you about what she did yesterday?”

Silas barked a laugh at that. “No, I can’t say she has, but it would be great if she did!” Still grinning, he continued, “Why do you ask?”

Laslow let out a sigh that was only _slightly_ exaggerated for effect. “My cousin is three weeks older than me. It’s a favorite pastime of his.” He began to number on his fingers. “Alongside endless teasing, wandering into my room at obscene hours, jumping through walls, and occasionally just jumping on _me_ when he’s in the mood. You get the picture.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Silas said.

“You can only say that because you haven’t met him,” Laslow said dryly. “And didn’t grow up with him,” he added softly, trying to ignore the longing thoughts of _home_ those words stirred in him.

Instead, he focused once more on Silas’s tour.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—May 25, 635**

Laslow had been many things in his life. He’d been a prince, an Exalt, and a prince again. Champion, mercenary, soldier.

‘Servant’ was a title new to him, and he wasn’t especially enjoying it.

He thought he might have, under other circumstances—but Xander was particular to the nth degree, and after the first day or two he didn’t seem keen on cutting Laslow much slack for his inexperience. Often, he found himself on the receiving end of a reprimand simply for doing something mundane in the ‘wrong’ order, and neither apologies nor requests of leniency seemed to be having any effect. The crown prince reminded Laslow of no one less than Frederick, but the degree of independence the Shepherds operated with meant he’d never been under Frederick’s direct and ultimate authority the way he was with Xander.

Scarcely two weeks in, Laslow found himself looking desperately for a way out—or least the opportunity to give Nohr’s spoiled and out-of-touch crown prince a solid dose of reality.

He didn’t even have the benefit of Selena’s ear anymore—without her own job offer, she’d been unable to stay in the castle permanently. Once Wilhelm had gone back to Diabola with his tail tucked between his legs and nothing of use resolved, she’d gone with, in hopes of arranging a more permanent move to Windmire with Odin. Sooner or later they would come, he was sure, but in the meantime…

Laslow didn’t think he’d felt so alone since the day he’d come tumbling out of the sky and into the past.

He still hadn’t quite found his footing with the rest of the retainers yet, either. He got on well enough with Silas, and Arthur seemed to be an odd but jovial enough character. Effie reminded him of Kjelle in a way that only left him achingly homesick, and when he’d off-handedly remarked that he’d seen Beruka all of twice he’d been informed that was far from unusual. And Niles…

Well, Niles had taken to setting off every alarm bell Laslow had ever had, seeming quite keen to put himself in competition with Xander to become the bane of his existence.

With the duties of court over, the two princes had decided to spend their morning on what seemed to be a fairly traditional ride. Unfortunately for Laslow, since he was expected to act as a guard, he found himself struggling to find the best way to ready both Skoll and Scottie in a reasonable period of time, considering they were located in different parts of the barn.

He’d decided his best bet was to groom them both, then saddle Scottie and leave him—Scottie, of course, for fear of Skoll taking it in his head to roll in Xander’s obscenely expensive tack—before doubling back to completely ready Skoll and hope he could bridle his own mount with the destrier in hand.

 _Of course this would be the day that Silas isn’t around,_ Laslow thought, then admitted to himself that at least he had the milder of the two stallions to wrangle. “Good morning, Lord Leo,” he forced himself to gamely call out of Skoll’s stall window.

Leo shot him a sharp look from the aisleway, hardly a hint of anything friendly on his features. Laslow could only wonder, having barely interacted with the younger prince beside their wordless exchange after the duel, whether Leo’s mask of cold calculation was a facade or whether he simply had a heart of stone.

“Laslow,” Leo finally acknowledged before moving to the stall next door. Then, a moment later, his voice went as sharp as his gaze had been. “Don’t you give me that look.”

Laslow flinched automatically— _what_ look?—only to let out a sigh of relief when he heard an equine snort and stamp of a hoof from next door. A moment later, though, he had to smother a chuckle. The image of Leo holding an actual conversation with his horse rang dissonant with Laslow’s current impression of him, and perhaps shaded doubt on his ‘heart of stone’ theory.

Skoll was clean, though, his black coat gleaming to a level Xander surely wouldn’t be able to find complaint with. Laslow slipped out of the stall and made for Scottie.

He returned to an interesting sight at the stall of his liege’s mount a few minutes later, though—Skoll’s saddle was already balanced in the stall window, his bridle hanging off the hook on the door. Laslow paused, his eyes narrowed. It was definitely Xander’s tack, though he couldn’t imagine any reason for Leo to have done him the favor—

“Ah, Laslow,” said Niles, loaded with his own tack as he turned the corner. He nodded toward Skoll’s door. “Saved you the walk.”

“Oh,” Laslow said, wondering briefly if he was going to have to reevaluate his impression of the man. “Thanks.”

Niles winked—presumably, at least, considering he only had one eye—and continued back the way Laslow had come.

Unfortunately, his first favorable impression of his fellow retainer vanished almost as quickly as it had come.

Laslow emerged from the dim stables with a horse in each hand to find himself the last member of the gathering. Niles was fiddling with his mare’s girth; Leo, meanwhile, _vaulted_ from a dead standstill onto Hati’s back—and the stallion had to be taller than Laslow, if Skoll was anything to go by—which was enough of a feat to momentarily distract him from Xander’s perpetually unimpressed expression.

“Laslow,” Xander said before Laslow had so much as the chance to hand him Skoll’s reins. “That bit is a curb.”

Laslow glanced back at Skoll’s bridle, a sense of unease washing over him. “...Yeah?”

A beat passed. “He only wears a curb when we intend to see combat,” Xander said. “Silas should have informed you this. He ought to be in a bridle with a snaffle.”

“...Oh,” said Laslow. He _did_ remember Silas saying something along those lines, but considering he hadn’t actually grabbed the bridle himself—

He shot a glance at Niles, who was still busying himself with his own mount.

“Sorry,” Laslow finally finished. Then, when Xander’s heavy gaze didn’t let up, he added, “I’ll go… fetch the right one, then.”

He sighed, trudged back toward the stables, and thought once more of home.

~~~

From what Laslow had gathered so far, Nohr did not have very many things in abundance—but one of the few things it did was mountains. As Xander and Leo led the way up a well-worn and clearly familiar hilly trail, Laslow had to admit there was some stark beauty in their surroundings. Even if late May in Nohr felt more like early March in Chon’sin.

“Father wishes us to make an appearance at the Diabolan summer tournaments,” Xander said, which was the first hint of conversation Laslow had heard from up front.

“I thought Duke Wilhelm had planned on canceling the summer tournament, with things how they were,” said Leo.

“He seems to have changed his mind,” Xander replied mildly.

Though Laslow couldn’t see Leo quirking his brow from behind, he could only imagine the second prince had done so. “Father’s doing?” he asked dryly.

“I believe he plans on joining us for the trip himself.”

This time, Leo’s tone tipped over into open incredulity. “He _does?”_

“Diabola needs the stability of the crown, even if we cannot offer support,” Xander said. “The family’s presence will be the best we can do.”

Laslow couldn’t find it in himself to be suitably convinced by that argument. At all.

Leo’s next response was slightly muted, enough that Laslow couldn’t make out the words perfectly. Another voice interjected, anyway, sounding far too close to have spanned the distance from its originator.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop on your liege, you know,” Niles said. “Unless they’ve already invited you beneath the sheets, that is.”

Laslow cringed at the phrasing—was there anything this man _couldn’t_ turn into an innuendo?—but didn’t answer beyond a shrug.

“Sorry about the bridle, by the way,” Niles continued, without a drop of sincerity in his voice. “My bad.”

Laslow forced out an “Mmhmm,” out of sheer politeness.

“Oh, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Niles asked, earning only a sidelong glance from Laslow. “Here I got the impression you didn’t know how to _stop_ yammering.” He gasped dramatically. “It’s not little old me you’re worried about, is it? I don’t bite… unless you like it.”

Laslow choked a little at that, but forced his tone to come out even. Fine, if the man wanted to make small talk… “Is it always so bloody _cold_ here?”

“Cold?” Niles drawled. “Why, this is downright _balmy._ It’ll get a little warmer around July and August, but… oho, wait until winter, dear Laslow.”

Laslow blew out a sharp breath through his nose. “Great,” he muttered.

“Oh,” said Niles mildly, “and I’m sure Chon’sin is so much nicer this time of year, hm?”

Laslow froze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, hoping his surely bone-white face hadn’t already given him away.

Niles scoffed, before switching into what Laslow’s ears picked up on as impeccable Chon’sinian even as his brain justified that it had to be Hoshidan. “Please. What sort of royal retainer would I be if I didn’t investigate potential threats to my liege?” He returned to Nohrian. “I went through your things the day you were appointed to Lord Xander. In the future, I’d recommend a lockbox. With the only key kept on your person.”

Fighting to keep his tone level, Laslow asked, “And you’re telling me that would have stopped you?”

“Of course not, what sort of half-assed spy do you take me for?” Niles asked. “It was a very sweet letter, by the way. All sorts of interesting things to say. Someone a little less fluent in Hoshidan might have taken it for a very odd spy’s code.” He shrugged. “Then again, you do make a very odd spy, being in bed with Iago and all.”

“I have no idea why Iago endorsed me,” Laslow admitted.

“Well, Iago is always looking for the means to his own end,” Niles said. “And considering you rather obviously threw the match with Lord Xander—obvious to anyone with half a brain, that is, which takes a good ninety percent of the court out of the equation—I can see why he’d find you useful. An interesting development, for sure.”

Laslow swallowed, wondering if his own sentimental indiscretion had cost them their entire mission before it had even truly started. Gods, Selena was going to kill him. “Then I’m assuming,” he managed to get out, “Lord Leo has already been made aware of this?”

“Now why would I do that?” Niles asked. “My liege has quite the brilliant mind, I admit… but he is also seventeen, and such an age is not known for its wisdom. What good would it do to make him hit the ceiling and convince Lord Xander to send you away? Then _I_ can’t keep my eye on you.” He smirked. “Your secret is safe with me, Laslow. Until the day you become a threat to Lord Leo. Then… all bets are off.”

Laslow struggled to find a response to that—the only thing he could think of was _Fair enough_ and that didn’t seem to quite fit—when the wind shifted, just a touch, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

It wasn’t quite the same bitter, rotten scent of Risen; there was an almost coppery note to the musk that Laslow had only caught a whiff of once before, but his newly boosted senses picked it up with impeccable recall nonetheless.

“Lord Xander,” he called, urging Scottie forward. “Lord Xander, I think there’s—”

An unholy roar interrupted him from the cliffs above before a boulder as tall as Scottie went sailing through the air.

Scottie himself tucked his butt and _spun,_ leaving Laslow grappling for his pommel in a desperate attempt to stay seated. His fellow retainer’s mare went straight _up,_ leaving Niles only to kick out of his stirrups and bail lest she flip over backwards onto him. The boulder landed with an almighty crash in the gap between retainers and lords.

“Easy, girlie, easy!” Niles said, though it seemed he didn’t dare make a grab for his reins around her flailing hooves.

“Are you all right?” Xander called from the other side.

“We’re fine!” Laslow replied, wheeling Scottie back to face the rock. It had settled, quite neatly, on a flat section of the valley, leaving the trail impassable. “You?”

Neither of the princes answered for a long moment, sending a spike of concern through Laslow. A moment later, though, the boulder shifted, grinding against the rocks beneath before it, inexplicably, rose back into the air.

Leo had a tome aglow in his right hand; with his left, he gestured back down the trail. Obediently, the boulder followed, sailing over Niles and Laslow’s heads before dipping back down to a better resting spot off to the side. “Perfectly all right,” Leo said, his expression hardly moving past _bored._

“Oh,” Laslow whispered.

Another roar sounded, breaking the moment as Xander drew Siegfried and looked upward. “A Stoneborn, do you suppose?”

“It must be,” Leo agreed, before gathering his reins— _two_ sets of reins, Laslow noted, which seemed like it would be far more of a hassle than it was worth—and urging Hati back up the trail. “Can you hurry?” he called back.

Laslow nodded, even if both princes had already turned their backs. Niles had finally gotten ahold of his mare, though he opted to merely snag her reins and break into a jog himself rather than taking the time to remount.

Two plateaus rose in a stair-step on either side of the trail, the one to the left a solid fifteen feet higher than the one on the light. Xander and Leo had taken position on the lower, leaving Niles and Laslow to quickly follow suit. Just visible on the higher level, though, was a great, hulking creature, a featureless mask topping a body that seemed to sprout from the mountain itself. At least a dozen Faceless surrounded it.

“They’re not red,” Laslow blurted unthinkingly.

“Only the Diabolan Faceless are red,” Leo said, swinging from Hati’s back. He still held his tome, flipping it open once more as he hit the ground. The rocks around them trembled, raising once more and falling together to wall off the plateau. Laslow only barely kept a muttered _damn_ from falling off his lips—no wonder Wilhelm had been so keen for the aid of a mage who treated the earth itself as his plaything. Then, a little sharper, Leo added, “Stay down, Laslow. You’re the only one without a ranged weapon.”

Laslow hopped off his horse even as he was about to protest that Siegfried wasn’t _that_ much longer than Falchion. Just as Niles nocked an arrow, though, Xander raised his blade, a dark aura gathering at Siegfried’s edge before flying off toward one of the Faceless.

 _Well that’s just not fair,_ Laslow thought, then laid an apologetic hand to Falchion’s hilt. If he wasn’t careful about thoughts like that, he thought wryly, the divine blade might rescind his ability to use it.

...Did they really expect him to just stay down and twiddle his thumbs while they took care of things, though?

The Stoneborn lifted another rock, not quite as large as the first but just as deadly. The glow in Leo’s palm flickered out for a moment as he discarded whatever spell he’d been planning on, then lit up again as he moved to redirect the boulder. From the look of it, he’d planned on dropping it on the Stoneborn’s head, but the great creature batted it away like a wind-tossed leaf.

“So… how exactly does one kill a Stoneborn?” Laslow asked.

“Very carefully,” Niles drawled.

“Are they like Faceless? Are they summoned?” A flash of _something_ up the hill, away from their foes, caught his eye. Something moving, he imagined—something _human?_

“Roughly the same, yes, though the process is quite different—really, Laslow, it’s not the _time,”_ Leo said, his tone rising in exasperation.

Laslow, meanwhile, caught another glimpse of movement and quickly tuned the other three out. There was _definitely_ someone up there, and by the way they were skulking he could only imagine they had something to do with the assault.

And, well, the other three were plenty busy already, weren’t they?

There was another path up, too, far too steep and narrow to take on horseback but plenty traversable by foot, even if the open edge on one side left him feeling preemptively nauseous. He wasn’t sure if Faceless were anything like Risen—significantly smarter when under the direct control of a mage, and rather bumbling when they weren’t—but it was worth a try, wasn’t it?

Laslow drew Falchion as silently as he could manage, crept around the backs of the two princes, and started up the trail.

He nearly made it up, too.

 _“LASLOW!”_ Xander bellowed, in by far the worst tone he’d heard out of the crown prince yet.

Laslow winced, let out a soft _“I’m in trouble,”_ in a singsong voice, then looked down and flashed a grin at his liege. Xander did _not_ seem to find that amusing, judging by the downright murderous expression in his gaze, but Laslow didn’t have time to dwell on his imminent demise when _something_ hit him and the ground beneath his feet gave way.

A gasp ripped from his lips, his head snapping around to see the mage he’d spotted earlier leering from above and cackling. He scrambled madly, struggling to keep his feet underneath him, his hands scrabbling for purchase when it became clear _that_ was a hopeless endeavor—

And Laslow fell.

He didn’t have time to scream, had hardly dropped more than five feet when he came to an equally sudden stop. His lungs spasmed from the abrupt halt, no longer quite in working order when it occurred to him he hadn’t actually _hit_ anything that would have stopped him.

Laslow had no sooner had that thought when he began to _float,_ drifting over until he dropped onto the upper plateau in a drop that wasn’t exactly _gentle_ but at least wouldn’t leave him nursing anything broken.

He’d still had the wind knocked out of him, though, and when he finally quit coughing he had to shake his head to clear it. He’d scarcely pulled himself up on his knees when a voice reached him from far nearer than it had any right to be.

“A more obscene display of stupidity I have never seen in my seventeen years,” Leo said as Laslow peered up at him.

“I can tell you’ve never met my cousin,” Laslow shot back, coughing one final time before getting to his feet. “But thanks.” He paused, though, glancing down at Xander and Niles—quite a way down, actually. “How’d you get up here so fast?”

Leo fixed him with a flat look. “Brynhildr literally controls _gravity_ and you think I wouldn’t use it to get around a little faster?”

“...Ah,” said Laslow, supposing Leo had found some way of coming straight up the cliff. Well, that explained how easily he mounted a horse that was seventeen hands if he was an inch, at least.

“And you’re welcome,” Leo said, though his tone was a little too snippy to be completely genuine. Another spell rose to his lips, a tree sprouting from the bare rock, its branches spearing a nearby Faceless through the heart. “Gods only know what Xander would do this time,” he muttered, though Laslow didn’t have a clue what he was referring to.

Focused as Leo was on the enemy in front of him, he missed the enemy behind.

Laslow had no time to shout a warning, though a wordless cry escaped him anyway as he lunged for the Faceless creeping up behind. Leo pivoted, his reaction slightly delayed as Falchion plunged into the creature’s heart.

No sooner had he yanked his blade free did the earth shake.

A piece of the mountain slid free, waving like water even though it had to be a chunk of solid stone. The Stoneborn’s unyielding mask didn’t change, even as it twisted to face the onslaught—but sprouting from the earth as the creature was, there was little it could do as the newfound rubble swallowed it whole. The handful of Faceless that remained were buried just as swiftly, though the stones came to a halt long before they came near Leo and Laslow.

Just as Laslow’s impression of the second prince was about to go up another notch, he caught a glimpse of Leo’s equally flabbergasted expression. Laslow glanced down the hill.

Niles hadn’t moved, though he’d lowered his bow now that the threat was gone. Xander, meanwhile, had found himself another place on the hillside, his face set, the ground still faintly aglow at his feet.

“Dragon Vein?” Laslow guessed under his breath.

Leo nodded stiffly, sending his elder brother an unreadable look. “That would be one way to kill a Stoneborn,” he said, his tone lofty but faintly dissatisfied. He moved to close Brynhildr, only to pause as Laslow moved to stand beside him, nudging at his elbow as he did.

“Lord Leo.”

Leo’s brow furrowed, clearly about to reprimand a _servant_ for having the audacity to _touch_ him—Laslow resisted the urge to roll his eyes at how quickly this was getting old—before Laslow tilted his head in a direction further up the hillside.

Toward the mage that still lurked. 

Leo nodded slightly, looking as though he still planned on shutting his tome—only to flip it back open at the last minute, a spell flying from his fingertips to hit the mage square on. Their foe hardly had a chance for surprise to register before they dropped. Another spell quickly brought the body to a more accessible location, and Leo finally did close Brynhildr before marching over.

“Oh,” the prince said, an edge of genuine delight seeming to come to his tone as he bent down and pressed his fingers to a pulse point on the mage’s neck. “I was hoping that would work.”

“...Did you knock him out?” Laslow asked, catching the soft rise and fall of their foe’s chest. The man’s features were plainly Hoshidan, at closer look, and Laslow resisted the urge to shudder at what that boded.

“I’ve thought for a while it would be theoretically possible to do so,” Leo said, a sudden spark in his eyes that could only remind Laslow of Laurent. “There _is_ a certain threshold of gravitational pressure that renders one unconscious without killing, though I haven’t had the chance to do much testing before now—hold on.”

Before Laslow could ask what had pulled Leo up short, he saw it as well. The mage’s face _wavered,_ the features shifting and twisting in a way that made him feel faintly ill, until the face staring back at them looked nothing like what it just had. No longer did he look remotely Hoshidan; instead, he had a sallow, squished sort of face. His eyes, when they sprang open, were a sickly green-gray.

The mage yelped, quickly moving to scramble to his feet as he regained consciousness, but no sooner had he moved did Leo cast again. Vines sprouted from the soil, winding around the mage’s limbs and holding him fast in his half-upright state.

“Name yourself,” Leo said, his expression cold and slightly alight in Brynhildr’s glow.

He didn’t have to ask twice. “Zola,” the mage said, cringing. “I am called Zola.”

Leo’s fingers tightened, as did the vines around Zola. “You summoned these creatures, Zola?”

Zola quickly shook his head. “No! No sir! Not me, sir, not at all!”

“Then what, exactly, were you doing here?”

“Only what I was asked to do, sir! Just to lurk and be seen. I wasn’t going to kill anyone.”

“The spell to my chest begs to differ,” Laslow grumbled, rubbing absently at his sternum.

Zola shot him an irritated look. “Yeah, but you didn’t die, did you?”

Leo cleared his throat. “Then I assume your previous appearance was the part of main importance?” he asked. Zola nodded. “You must be quite gifted in illusory magic. I wouldn’t have guessed you were projecting a false appearance until you transformed.”

“Oh, yes sir, very gifted,” Zola said. He glanced over at Laslow, locking eyes for a moment—then his face morphed in that uncanny way once more until Laslow was suddenly staring back at _himself._

“Oh, stop _that,”_ Laslow snapped, taking an automatic step backward.

Zola chuckled a little, returning to his own features. He quickly sobered, though, and glanced over the hillside. Laslow followed his gaze to find Xander and Niles hiking up to join them.

“Then tell me,” Leo said, his cold voice drawing the mage’s attention once more. “Who _did_ summon these creatures, if not you?”

“Someone who wanted to provoke war with Hoshido, I’d guess,” said Laslow.

Leo snorted. “Obviously.”

“No idea,” said Zola, only to let out a whimper as the vines tightened again.

“You can tell me,” Leo said flatly, “or you can tell my father’s veritasages back in Krakenburg. Your choice.”

“...Lord Leo,” Laslow murmured, a prickle of unease crawling down his spine.

Leo only answered with a shadowed look that plainly said _Don’t question me._

 _Gods, he’s_ seventeen _,_ Laslow couldn’t help but think. Were soldiers getting younger, he wondered, or was he getting older?

Zola, meanwhile, swallowed so hard it was audible. “Your father…” he managed, his eyes wide and face ashen. “...Prince Leo?” he ventured.

Leo didn’t deign to actually answer, and it only seemed to turn Zola’s groveling up another notch.

“I don’t know who summoned the Faceless,” he said quickly. “No one told me. But I’ll tell you who hired me.”

Leo quirked a brow, exchanging a glance with Xander as the elder prince came to stand beside him. “Continue.”

“Dame Colette.” Zola nodded to himself.

A beat passed. “Governor Cybalt’s wife?” Xander asked.

Zola nodded again.

“That’s quite the interesting tale, Zola,” Leo said. With a wave of his hand, the vines holding Zola uprooted from the earth, still bound tightly around the mage’s hands and feet. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to confirm it with the king.”

Zola gulped again, his nod more tentative than the last.

Xander nodded in return, then turned to Laslow. “Put him on your horse, Laslow. We’ll make for Krakenburg.”

Laslow resisted the urge to roll his eyes—of course _he’d_ be the one forced to give up his mount—and muttered his assent.

~~~

Tied up as Xander was with Zola for the rest of the day, Laslow had the afternoon properly to himself for the first time since he’d arrived in Windmire. The sudden free time did not, unfortunately, do anything to mitigate his growing anxiety.

Xander sent for him about half an hour after he finished dinner, which _definitely_ did not dull the worry gnawing at his stomach. Laslow arrived at his liege’s quarters with a tentative knock and was bid entrance with a flat monotone.

“Good evening, milord,” he said, forcing cheer into his tone. Then, when Xander didn’t so much as look up from his desk, he continued, “How’d it go?”

“Iago will head to Cheve to investigate Zola’s claims,” Xander said, still not looking up from the parchments he was inking. “Father has not yet decided what to do with Zola. That is all you need to know about the matter.”

Laslow blinked. “By ‘to do with,’ you mean…?”

“If Father deems him useful, I imagine he will be pressed into service of the crown. If not, he will be executed.”

“Oh,” Laslow said softly. He shivered.

“But,” Xander said, finally setting down his quill and turning to face Laslow. He left one elbow resting on the desk, linking his fingers together in a fashion that might have looked casual coming from anyone else. “I did not bring you here to discuss Zola.”

Laslow made himself nod.

“Your actions today,” Xander said, “were entirely beyond the realm of acceptable. You put yourself at a completely unnecessary risk—against orders, I might add, even if they did not come directly from me. In the future, I expect the directives of my siblings to be treated with the same degree of respect and obedience as orders from myself.”

Laslow nodded again.

“And,” Xander continued, “when your risk did not pay off, when your debt collectors came calling, you forced _Leo_ to put himself in danger in order to rescue you. That is the exact opposite of your duty as a royal retainer, and I will not see it happen again.”

“I think Leo had it quite under control,” Laslow pointed out.

 _“Lord_ Leo, Laslow, you forget yourself!” Xander snapped immediately.

Laslow winced, his hands curling into fists behind his back. “Lord Leo,” he repeated dutifully. “Sorry, milord.”

“I expect more than your remorse, Laslow. I expect—nay, I _require_ you to conduct yourself in a way befitting your newfound station. I know not where you came from, nor how much of a step up your current position is. If the prestige has gone to your head, you will take a pin to it and bring yourself back down to Nohrian soil. And actions of the like you took today _will not_ be repeated. Do I make myself clear?”

 _A step up, huh?_ was Laslow’s first thought. _There’s only one step up from a prince, you know—oh wait, I’ve done that too. Check and mate, Your Highness._

“Yes, milord,” he forced himself to say instead. “Crystal.”

 _Wish I hadn’t thrown that match,_ he thought with an internal sigh. _I should’ve kicked his ass while I had the chance._

After a painfully long moment, Xander nodded. “You’re dismissed,” he said flatly.

“Yes, milord,” Laslow said again. “Er… I did actually have one more question, if you don’t mind obliging me.”

It took another moment for Xander to answer. “Yes?”

“That Governor Cybalt fellow you were talking about earlier, and his wife… Who are they, again?”

A flash of something entirely unreadable cross Xander’s stony face. “The _late_ Governor Cybalt,” he said, “was the man who led Cheve to its latest rebellion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those readers who haven't read Heart of Stone and thus don't recognize the name of the former, a quick spoiler:
> 
> Cybalt and Colette are Scarlet's parents. Hehe.


	13. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal Cousins Roasting Hour comes off of hiatus.

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—May 31, 635**

Odin had just— _just—_ gotten Ophelia to bed when the knock at his door came.

He bit back a groan—who wanted to pay a visit at _this_ hour? Especially when preparations for the summer tournaments were in full swing?

He crossed the room, opened the door a crack to peer through it, then quickly slipped through when he saw who was on the other side. “Laslow? What are you—I thought the royal family wasn’t due for two more days.”

“They’re not,” Laslow said. “They sent a couple of us ahead to make sure things were ready, and by ‘a couple of us’ I mean the lowest rungs on the ladder, and by that I mean me and Effie. And Hans—ah, gods, _Hans,_ avoid him if you can. I’m not really sure why _Silas_ didn’t get sent, since he’s not even technically a retainer, but I guess I shouldn’t complain since it _did_ get me out from under Lord Xander’s thumb for a couple days, and—gods, Odin, I know it’s late, but I need a bloody _drink.”_

Odin let out a slightly uneasy chuckle, then admitted, “I have no idea who the people you’re talking about are, my friend.”

“Ah,” Laslow said after a beat. “I suppose not, no. Sorry. Krakenburg is… a different world.” He lowered his voice. “No pun intended.”

Another short ‘heh’ escaped Odin before he sobered. “You okay?” he asked in a low tone.

Laslow shrugged. “I’ve been better. Definitely been better.” He shook his head, forcing a smile. “It’s good to see you, though.”

Odin was about to respond in kind when the doorknob twisted under his fingertips, then was lightly tugged out of his grasp. “Uncle _Laslow!”_ came a delighted cry from waist height.

Odin sighed and resisted the urge to facepalm.

Laslow, meanwhile, broke into a much genuine smile and squatted. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, holding his arms out. Ophelia obligingly scampered out of the doorway and flung herself at him. “It’s a little late for you to be up, isn’t it?”

“So I have informed her a plethora of times on this blasted eve,” Odin grumbled. Laslow only laughed.

“But Daddy didn’t finish his _story,”_ Ophelia said, fixing Laslow with a gaze that revealed just how grave a transgression that was. “Potato the Pegasus hadn’t defeated the _Doomed Philanderer of Legend—_ are you okay, Uncle Laslow?”

When Laslow could breathe again, he fixed Odin with a glare. “You taught her what _philanderer_ means?”

“...Well, no,” Odin admitted. “But she knows you’re one.”

“But you’re a _good_ philanderer,” Ophelia said gravely. “Don’t worry, Uncle Laslow. Potato knows. You’re safe.”

“That’s… good… to know,” Laslow said, then sighed. “Wouldn’t want… the hero pegasus… getting the wrong idea of me.”

“All right,” Odin interjected. _“Bedtime._ You can play with your uncle in the morning.”

Ophelia gave him a beseeching look and had only the hour to blame for the fact that it didn’t work.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” said Odin, ignoring the amused smirk Laslow shot at him.

~~~

It took Laslow the better part of an hour to catch Odin up on the events of the last month, and with that came the lingering realization he’d have to tell most of it over again to Selena—they had both agreed it wasn’t worth the risk of waking her up.

“So,” Odin said, resting his chin in his palm and tapping his fingers against his cheek. They had stolen away into the corner of a little tavern tucked away at the fringes of Castle Tuefell, which was only about half full. “The king denied his aid, then demanded Diabola go through with the tournament that was going to be canceled in order to free up the competitors for the defense of the state… and is now showing up to come watch?”

“That about sums it up, yeah,” Laslow said dryly.

“Which definitely isn’t putting any sort of strain on the hosting territory,” said Odin.

“Oh, no, definitely not.”

A beat passed before Odin simply said, “Yikes.”

Laslow snorted into his glass. “Basically, yeah.” His grip on his drink was just a shade too tight, his knuckles paler than the rest of his hand. “Lord Xander and Lord Leo don’t even seem to know what he’s up to… or they do and they won’t actually say it,” he mused. “Dunno where Lady Camilla stands, I really don’t see her too much. And Lady Elise is a literal child so I doubt she even cares.” He shrugged. “Oh, by the way, there’s a fifth one, too. Lady Corrin. Haven’t met her yet, because apparently she’s _literally locked in a tower.”_

“She’s what?” Odin asked. “What for?”

Laslow raised his hand to make a quote gesture. “‘Health issues,’ I’ve heard. Poor kid—or, not a kid, I guess, she’s older than Lord Leo and he’s seventeen. Then again, at least she gets to stay out of the cesspool that is the capital, so maybe she got the better end of the bargain. Truly, our king is a stand-up guy.”

Odin shot a wary, sidelong glance out over the room. “I’m not sure how well sarcasm is protected under the laws of lèse-majesté around here, my friend.”

Laslow let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a groan, laying his arms across the table and leaning his head into them. “Why am I not surprised that’s a thing around here?” he asked. “Can you imagine how much of our population would be in jail if we had those laws back in Chon—” He hurriedly cut himself off, amending, “—back home?”

“I’d say a solid half,” Odin replied.

“A conservative estimate,” Laslow grumbled, lifting his head again. “Oh, by the way, Lord Xander says I need to stop letting my ‘newfound station’ ‘go to my head.’”

Odin couldn’t contain the bark of laughter that escaped him at that. “Has that ever been a problem of yours?” he asked. “Unless by ‘going to your head’ he means ‘letting all of your never-ending anxieties parade around in your brain like an ever-growing line of ducklings trailing after their mother—that being whatever your issue-of-the-year currently happens to be’?”

A long moment passed. “Ducklings?” Laslow finally said flatly. “Really?”

“You’re right,” Odin said. “Ducklings are too adorable to be sullied by a comparison with you.”

“Hey.”

“Possums?” Odin said thoughtfully. “Or beetles? Perhaps rats.”

“So I officially want to be paid back for that drink of yours,” Laslow said.

“Sure,” Odin replied without missing a beat. “His Grace has been giving me a stipend anyway.”

Laslow boggled for a moment, then asked, “What for?”

“I’ve been aiding him on his hunt for the plaguing Faceless which summoned you to your current position in the first place,” Odin said. “Alas, their nature still eludes me, but fear not! Odin Dark cannot be dissuaded from discovering their secrets forever!” He pivoted in his seat, extending his hand like he was casting a spell without any magic actually sprouting from his fingertips.

“...That looks even more ridiculous than your usual pose,” Laslow said after a long moment.

“Considering your insulting and frankly _wrong_ opinion on my most excellent attire, I’m not going to take such words very seriously,” said Odin loftily.

“You just compared me to _possums_ and _rats_ and you’re saying _I’ve_ been insulting?”

“You called me a _stripper,”_ Odin grumbled.

“I’m just pointing out,” Laslow said, “that Lord Leo’s a mage and I don’t see him parading around in that ridiculous getup.”

“Well maybe he’s just _boring,”_ Odin sniffed.

“Or maybe you’re just _weird.”_

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—June 2, 635**

“Check it out, Leo!” Elise stage-whispered, standing in her stirrups as she glanced over at her brother. “I’m almost as tall as you up here!”

Leo could have pointed out that _almost_ was definitely the key phrase—Freddy was a hand shorter than Hati and Elise on the ground was still a good half a foot below Leo—if he hadn’t been so focused on keeping his _own_ mount steady. Every muscle in Hati’s body was coiled, his head set against the bit, his every step seeming to be the prelude to a tantrum. Leo couldn’t blame him—he _had_ been cooped up below the decks of a riverboat for the last three days, and time off _never_ boded well for Leo’s next ride. Still, he sent a silent plea to his mount to behave for just a few more minutes until they were inside the courtyard of Tuefell and Leo could safely find his feet on the ground.

If he could’ve had his own way, he would have given his stir-crazy destrier his head and let him gallop the way to Tuefell. That, unfortunately, was not a viable option in the present company.

King Garon rode at the head of their retinue, only behind the first row of guards, and some uncanny twinge rose in Leo at the sight. Barring the occasional trip to Cyrkensia, he could hardly remember the last time he’d seen his father leave Windmire—it couldn’t have been long after Xander was knighted. His children were spread behind him, youngest to oldest right to left, and behind them were the ever-present company of retainers—Laslow, Effie, and Hans having come to meet them at the boat. Leo could only thank the fact that Iago was still in Cheve and hadn’t been able to get away to join them.

Tuefell finally rose in the distance, bright flags and banners hanging from its ramparts with no indication of the territory’s current turmoil nor the haste in which the tournament had been pieced together. The wide doors swung open to reveal Duke Wilhelm waiting to greet them, just as he had for Leo’s last visit; though this time he was dressed in full armor, a gold-trimmed red cape hanging from his shoulders.

“Your Majesty.”

Garon gazed at the duke for a long moment before simply replying, “Wilhelm.”

Leo tuned out the pleasantries—the honor of their visit, the gratefulness of their host—merely letting out a sigh when his father dismounted and gave the rest of them permission to do the same. Part of him was torn with the relief that Hati hadn’t made a fool of him, while the other part wanted to jump back on the stallion’s back, urge him out the gates, and continue with his thwarted investigations.

But thwarted his investigations were—had Garon not forbidden him from even sating his curiosity? The decision of the court and his father’s own words rang in his head—surely not to be defied when Garon was right there with him.

_Permission to return to Diabola to continue my other investigations there?_

_Denied._

Leo froze, still with a hand on Hati’s reins, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to come to his lips.

His father hadn’t specifically forbidden him from _investigating,_ had he? Merely from _returning to Diabola._

And in Diabola he was.

 _Well,_ Leo thought, pointedly keeping his gaze on Tuefell’s walls to avoid any accidental eye contact. _That changes everything, doesn’t it?_

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—June 3, 635**

“Well, you see, Niles,” Leo said, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head, “I _would_ join my siblings for breakfast, but I can’t. I’m terribly ill, you see.”

A beat passed while Niles looked Leo up and down. “Yes, milord,” he said dryly. “You certainly look it.”

“Don’t I,” Leo replied mildly, laying an absent hand over the satchel which held Brynhildr.

Niles, after another moment, smirked. “Your rebellion astounds me, milord.”

“Father only forbade me from _returning_ to Diabola. He said nothing about what I could or couldn’t do the next time I went.”

“The letter of the law and the spirit of it are often two different things.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Niles didn’t rise to a retort. “Does His Grace know?”

“He’s aware that I will be… temporarily unavailable,” Leo admitted. “And that such a thing will be unnoteworthy. He’s also aware that one of his horses may be gone from the stable today.”

“...Just one?” Niles asked.

“I need you to stay here and cover for me,” Leo said, then quirked a brow. “Don’t give me that look, Niles.”

Niles _did_ give him that look, though, and even the reprimand didn’t ease it. “You surely can’t intend to go _alone,_ milord.”

“No, I don’t. Wilhelm arranged a guard for me.” Leo sighed as Niles continued to boggle. “Whom I intend to immediately hex to secrecy, honestly, what sort of amateur do you take me for?”

Niles crossed his arms, still frowning. “I don’t like this, Lord Leo. At all.”

“Your concerns are duly noted. I’ll be fine.” With one final adjustment to his hood, Leo laid a hand on the doorknob. “Now, fetch me some soup or something. I’m ill, remember?”

~~~

“Well, my dear Selena, don’t you look ready to break some hearts. ...Or perhaps some heads, more likely.”

“That sounds better, yeah,” Selena said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin.

The tournament had spilled past Tuefell’s courtyards, taking up the surrounding grounds with brightly colored tents and throngs of people. A jousting pair collided with a crash nearby, while farther away a collection of mages were tossing various cantrips toward each other.

Laslow had only just managed to slip away from Xander long enough to find Selena, and he kept a wary eye on the crowd for his liege even then. “How many people are there in the sword brackets, again?”

“A lot,” Selena answered nonchalantly, absently fiddling with one of her twintails. Laslow could only thank the fact that he wasn’t competing against her—between the unyielding length of Ylissean steel strapped to her hip and the perpetual scowl keen enough to disembowel a man, she’d never been one of his favorite sparring opponents unless he was _really_ in the mood for a challenge.

“Well, you’ll come top ten, I bet,” he offered.

“Top _ten?”_ she asked, raising a narrow brow.

“...Five?” he ventured. When her gaze didn’t waver, he hurriedly changed the subject. “Where’s Odin, anyway? I’d have thought he’d want to at least see you compete if he didn’t want to join in himself. Speaking of, why _didn’t_ he join?”

“I don’t know, I don’t care, and I also don’t know,” Selena replied. “Actually, no, the last one I do know—people think his spells are weird. They don’t do all that… Arc- and El- crap and whatnot around here. He’s been getting odd looks as it is. But no, I actually really don’t know where he is. Ophelia’s gotten a nursemaid for when he’s out with the duke and I think she’s with her today.”

“Odd,” Laslow murmured. “He didn’t mention any plans yesterday.” He shrugged. “Still, he could’ve hopped into the sword division if he wanted to. Or maybe he’s out of practice.”

“Out of practice?” Selena repeated, her low voice taking on a mocking tone. “‘Why, dear _cousin,_ how could you ever insinuate that _I,_ the great Odin Dark, could ever need the banal requirements of _practice—’”_

“Okay, quit that, it’s uncanny,” Laslow said, waving a hand at her.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The hair on the back of his neck rose before he could answer. Laslow turned, casting the edge of a wary look over his shoulder, and suppressed a shudder as he caught sight of the mountainous figure passing through the open gates.

“Don’t look now,” he murmured. “It’s the king.”

Selena didn’t quite oblige his request not to look, though she did at least make it discreet. “There’s something about him that’s just…”

“Wrong?” Laslow whispered.

“I was gonna say ‘not quite right,’ but sure.”

He shook his head. “I gotta run,” he said. “If His Majesty is here then Lord Xander isn’t far behind. Say hi to Odin for me if you see him.”

“If I feel like it,” Selena answered. “Not sure I do, after the top ten comment.”

Laslow didn’t deign to respond to that.

~~~

Odin was beginning to wonder if he’d misheard the rendezvous when Rommie pricked his ears in the general direction of Tuefell.

Scrambling to his feet, Odin held his breath, sorting out the branches creaking in the wind over his head before he picked up on the sound of hoofsteps. A few moments later, a large bay stepped into the clearing, its rider cloaked beyond recognition.

“Hark, traveler!” Odin greeted with a wave. “I must assume you are the associate our mutual friend has requested I escort?”

The rider didn’t answer until he’d swung from his horse, his heavy garment swirling at his feet with the motion but staying firmly in place over his face. “I am. And your name?”

“I am _Odin Dark!_ Master of the grand and eldritch, seeker of justice, and scion of the greatest heroes who ever lived!” He grinned. “What is your title, great adventurer?”

A beat passed. “...I’m afraid I can’t reveal that yet.”

Odin nearly had to bite his knuckles to keep a sound of delight from escaping him. “You mean I have been hired to protect a fearsome warrior who cannot even reveal his true identity?” A short squeak did manage to fall from his lips. “This is the greatest thing that has so far happened to me this year! I would say perhaps ever, but the life of Odin Dark has been filled with similarly grand pursuits, and it would be egregious of me to demean them…”

“Not exactly…” said the adventurer. “I don’t intend to leave you in the dark about my identity, but the secrecy of my presence here is of the utmost importance. I will need to cast a spell on you to ensure that secrecy before I reveal myself.”

“Oh! You have my comprehension, my friend! Surely, I recognized the power of your soul as rivaling my own from the moment I laid eyes on you… Do what you must!”

A slightly bemused silence followed. “Very well. From the moment I cast the spell until next we part ways, you will be able to speak freely of the events which transpire, but you will not be able to speak my name in association with them. If you do not agree to this, we will part ways now. Does this meet your approval?”

“Verily!” Odin said, nodding eagerly. Under his breath, he added, “So _epic!”_

A short wash of cold rushed over him, so brief he hardly registered it before it was gone. As soon as it was, his companion reached for the hood of his cloak.

“Oh,” Odin said. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Considering the fanfare, Odin had rather hoped his companion’s identity would strike him like a bolt from the blue. Fate did not seem to grant him that, though—the softness of his new friend’s features spoke of both youth and wealth and something keen lurked behind his eyes, but other than that Odin could find nothing of note.

“Leo,” finally came the answer. Then, when Odin didn’t respond, “Second prince of Nohr.”

“Oh,” Odin said, unable to keep a faint note of dissatisfaction from coming to his tone. “You’re Prince Leo?”

“Is that a problem?” Leo asked.

“No… it’s merely…” Odin trailed off, then mumbled, “Laslow gave me the impression you were taller.”

Leo’s brows shot up. “You know Laslow?”

“Indeed! A more stalwart companion I have only known once in my life—we have battled side by side through hell itself, joined by our own shared blood—”

“We need to get moving,” Leo interjected unceremoniously. “I haven’t got all day.”

“Of course, of course!” Odin nodded. “Where do you intend to journey?”

Leo shrugged, gathering his reins once more. “Anywhere you think we could find Faceless. I never even got to see any the last time I was here.”

“Hmm… I cannot hope to predict for certain where our foes might hope to strike next… But I can show you where we battled a company three days past? We did not have time to dispose of the corpses…”

“Corpses would be good,” Leo said. “Better than nothing, at least.” He reached back for his horse’s reins. “Lead the way.”

“Of course, Your Highness! Odin Dark will not lead you astray!”

~~~

“Your steed,” Odin ventured about an hour later, “does not seem to have had his bloodlines chosen for their… alacrity.”

“He’s not mine,” Leo pointed out a touch too hotly. “He’s on loan from His Grace.”

Despite Leo’s offense, Odin wasn’t exactly wrong. The prince’s mount-of-the-day, a big bay gelding by the name of Fritz, didn’t seem especially keen on getting them to their destination in a reasonable period of time. Leo wished quite fervently he could have taken Hati—even knowing the snit his usual mount would likely be in. Leo had ended up having to take a roundabout circuit through the stables that morning just to keep the stallion from spotting him and alerting the entire barn of his presence.

“We’re nearing the point of our destination, anyways,” Odin said after a long moment.

“Good,” said Leo, then added under his breath, “Seven hells, horse, do you know the definition of ‘forward’?”

Fritz didn’t answer and continued to plod. Leo sighed.

He ended up smelling their destination before he spotted it; by the time they’d actually come within sighting distance of the days-old battleground, he’d pulled the neck of his cloak up over his nose in a vain attempt to mute the stench of rotting Faceless.

“Behold!” Odin said, seemingly unaffected by the scent as he hopped off his mount. “The handiwork of our battle of the ages, short work though we made of it—”

That was about the point Leo tuned him out, dismounting himself to get a better look at the corpses. Good thing he’d spent such a large portion of his life listening to Elise’s chatter with only half an ear, or Odin might’ve proved more distracting than he already was.

Nothing for it, he thought. At least he could finally get a look at his elusive targets.

Despite their increasing state of decay, the Faceless seemed… oddly normal. The excitement of _finally_ spotting those red hides faded into disappointment; he’d spent so long gearing up to see these things that the moment itself felt anticlimactic. Leo bit back a sigh, beginning to circle the half dozen bodies.

Besides the obvious visual differences of size and color, Leo found after his first circuit that there was little else to see. Even for the phrase regarding beggars and choosers, the corpses were too _old_ for his liking. He resisted the urge to curse under his breath—there had to be _something_ for him to see after this long of a drought.

“Well?” Odin said after several minutes.

“They’re the same,” Leo said, the words escaping with slightly more of a growl than he’d intended. “Everything I can see about them is just… the same as a regular Faceless. Which doesn’t help me when I’m trying to figure out what’s _different.”_

“Well, what would make them different?” Odin asked. “‘Tis the size and coloring that separates them from their so-called normal kindred, yes? What is the cause of that?”

“Differences in the summoning spell,” Leo answered.

“Personal flair?” Odin asked.

“No. The spells are far too complex for that. Trying to add ‘personal flair’ would be more likely to give the result a third arm sprouting out of its forehead. It’s incredibly complicated necromancy to begin with _before_ one begins to mess with the existing spells. Not to mention it seems to be happening either without the direct interference of a sorcerer, or at least it’s happening from a distance previously unfathomable for these sorts of things. Actually, I’d almost find it more likely the spell for these was built from the ground up rather than trying to modify the usual ones…” He trailed off. “Dammit, if I knew _where_ they were being summoned, if I could see it in action, it might at least give me a clue…”

Odin shrugged. “I don’t think even His Grace has managed that yet.”

“Yes, I know,” Leo said. “I merely hoped…” He trailed off again. “Either way, I’m hardly going to content myself with a cursory glance. I hope you brought a way to keep yourself entertained.”

“Entertained?” Odin asked blankly. “Why, mine own dark thoughts are entertainment aplenty for myself and many others—er, but don’t you want help?”

“No, thank you,” Leo said. _Not the sort of help you’re liable to offer, that is._ “Just keep out of the way if you would.”

A faintly disappointed sound escaped Odin at that, which Leo pointedly ignored. “Um,” he ventured again a moment later. “Um, Your Highness—”

 _“What?”_ Leo snapped, turning to face his guard. “Oh.”

A low growl came through the clearing, followed by shuffling footsteps and the clank of chains. Shadowed blood-red shifted in the trees—one Faceless, another, another—

And these ones were very much alive.

“Get behind me, Odin,” Leo said, reaching for Brynhildr. “I’ll handle this—”

“Ha _ha!_ You think to best me, fiends? Nay! You have met your final match in the great Odin Dark! Behold my might— _Abysmal Body Blow! Arcwind!”_

“Seven _hells,”_ Leo groaned as Odin charged into the fray without a second look.


	14. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo has some rather not great days.

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—June 3, 635**

“Nrgh… fiends… Odin Dark… will have your lives… huh?”

“Good morning,” came an incredibly dry voice.

Odin blinked several times before the blurry shapes above his head settled into weathered, creaking branches. “...Huh?” he said again, forcing himself to sit up. “Ugh, my head…”

“At least your head,” came a prim voice Odin finally placed as Leo, “is still attached to your body.”

Odin finally spotted the prince, crouched next to one of the Faceless corpses—one of the  _ new  _ Faceless corpses. Half a dozen were now scattered in the clearing around their older brethren; some had gaping wounds and missing limbs while others looked as though they had simply dropped dead where they stood.

Odin didn’t remember personally taking out any of them.

“What sort of incredible feat succeeded in removing me from this glorious battle…?” he asked, scratching his head and wracking his brain.

Leo glanced up from the current object of his attentions. “That would have been me.”

“Huh?” Odin said yet again. “What could possess the great prince to fire upon his own ally?”

“You must be very new to magic,” Leo said rather than answering properly.

“What? No, I—”

“Because I do believe one of the first things taught for magical combat,” Leo continued, “is that spells work from a  _ distance.” _

Odin crossed his arms. “They also work from up close,” he argued. “Magic is flexible like that. And I’m not an  _ amateur.” _

“No?” said Leo. “Just suicidal, then?”

“Did it occur to you that perhaps you merely underestimate my skill?”

“Did it occur to you to thank me for keeping you in one piece?”

“You knocked me out!”

Leo made an aggravated sound in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes skyward. “Well, never  _ mind  _ then!”

Odin crossed his arms. “I thought the point of bringing a guard was to keep you safe.”

“I took care of myself, did I not?”

Odin let out a long, aggravated sigh, which Leo promptly ignored, and rose to his feet.

“What sort of magic even was that spell you used?” Leo asked after a long moment, his tone significantly less snippy than it had been a moment ago even if he still didn’t deign to actually look at Odin.

“Arcwind?” Odin asked. “It’s a spell from my homeland.”

“Which is where, again?”

Odin hesitated for a moment too long before he settled on the perpetual, “Very far away.”

Leo glanced up, quirked a brow at him, then returned to his study. “It’s strange magic, certainly.”

“Or maybe,” Odin grumbled, “everyone  _ else’s  _ magic is strange and my magic is normal.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Leo replied dryly. He produced a small notebook from inside his cloak, sitting back on his heels to jot something down.

A beat passed as Odin paused, his conversation with Laslow helpfully resurfacing. He looked Leo up and down, noting that the prince’s outfit really was  _ dreadfully  _ boring compared to Odin’s own, even if he was trying to remain incognito. “Or maybe you just have no sense of  _ style.” _

Leo glanced up sharply, his mouth falling open. It took a moment for him to answer in a strangled voice,  _ “Excuse  _ me?”

Odin didn’t answer, instead hopping to his feet and doing his best to ignore the last twinges of his headache. “So!” he said brightly. “What knowledge has your investigation so far granted you?”

The expression that crossed Leo’s face said he would have dearly loved to snipe in response to that again, though the prince held his tongue. “Nothing of interest to you, I imagine,” he said, then shot a pointed look as Odin attempted to read the notes over his shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“Mind what?” Odin asked blankly.

Leo sighed.

~~~

By the time sunset blazed across Tuefell’s grounds, Selena had a pleasant soreness in her muscles yet still a bounce in her step. The first day of competition had drawn to a close, but the night was far from over; food and drink vendors were still peddling their wares now, even more earnest to attract customers with the distractions of entertainment out of the way. She was standing in between two stalls, weighing the swirl of smells and the prices against each other when she paused.

_ “Odin!”  _ she hollered in a pitch she’d learned  _ carried  _ from a young age.

More than one look came her way, as did several others when he answered. “Selena the Moonborn!”

She rolled her eyes, ducking into the crowd with the expectation it would part and not bothering to mutter apologies when it didn’t. “Where’ve you been?” she demanded once she reached Odin.

“Busy,” he answered, which wasn’t an answer at all. Selena lifted a brow, which at least prompted him to ask, “How fared you in today’s trial, my friend?”

Selena flipped her hair over her shoulder, lifting her chin. “I won.”

“Ha! I expected no less of you, my sharp and fiery comrade.”

Selena rolled her eyes and elbowed him before linking her arm with his. “Yeah, whatever. Buy me dinner.” She shot him a look when he spluttered a protest. “Hey, you still owe me for coming here at all, remember? Put it on the tab.”

“You’re a cruel mistress, Selena,” Odin grumbled.

“Yeah, and you didn’t answer my question. Where’ve you been all day?”

“I was out journeying the forests in search of our temporary home’s ceaseless foes—”

“You were hunting Faceless again?” Selena translated. “With who? His Grace has been here all day.”

“Er…”

“Gawds, don’t tell me you went by  _ yourself.” _

“I did not! Though I cannot reveal who it was I made the expedition with. I am sure there are ways around the curse which has been placed on me, though I’m not yet certain it would be prudent to break the trust my newfound compatriot has placed in me…”

“Curse what?” Selena asked. “What are you on about? You’re acting even weirder than usual and that’s saying a lot—gods, would you  _ look out?  _ People are trying to get through!”

The last had been directed to a tall, bald man who not only did not move out of the way, but took a step sideways as Selena tried to course correct.

“Are you deaf?” she demanded. “Move!”

“No.”

Selena bristled, puffing like an angry cat as she stepped toward the man. Beside her, Odin shifted, his eyes narrowing. “Who do you think you are? Besides a giant  _ jerk?” _

“My name is Hans,” he said, a too-toothy smile stretching his face. “Come with me, Selena.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, creep-o,” she snapped. “Move before I move you.”

Hans only smiled wider. “Come with me,” he repeated. “By the order of His Majesty.”

Selena paused. “Yeah?” she asked. “And what’s the king want with me?”

“I didn’t ask,” said Hans, then beckoned once more.

“I’m coming with you,” Odin said.

“No,” said Hans. “You’re not.”

Odin looked as if he were about to protest again, so Selena waved an absent hand. “Don’t worry, Odin. I can handle this guy.”

“Are you sure?”

“What, you think I can’t take care of myself?” she asked, then turned back to Hans. “Go on, then, before I change my mind.”

Hans smirked again and turned on his heel. Selena let herself sneer at his back for a moment before she followed.

“So,” she said as they wove through Tuefell’s grounds, heading steadily for the castle itself. “You really don’t know what he wants with me?”

“I do not question the orders of my king,” Hans said flatly. “I simply obey them.”

_ Well that’s a great attitude to have,  _ Selena thought dryly.

She doubted she would get any more out of him after that, and fell silent as they trudged through narrow hallways and up dark staircases. Finally, somewhere deep in the castle’s west wing, Hans paused, knocked at a door, then stepped aside with a mocking bow.

“Come,” came Garon’s flat voice.

Though it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright, flickering candlelight, Selena dropped immediately into a bow—she was going to make a better impression than Laslow had, dammit, even if it was likely he’d already tainted her by mere association. “Your Majesty,” she said, straightening to lock eyes with Garon where he sat at his desk. Her gaze flicked sideways, landing on the purple-haired princess lounging on a chaise to her left. “And Your Highness.”

Garon didn’t answer her, though Camilla rose from her seat, exuding grace. “Selena, my dear,” she crooned, approaching with arms outstretched. “We’re going to have so much  _ fun  _ together.”

Selena paused. Blinked. “We’re gonna what?”

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—June 4, 635**

“Feeling better, Leo?”

Leo supposed that he had—rather accidentally—strengthened his cover story by spending half the night poring over his notes; he’d woken with dark circles under his eyes, the sharp contrast to his ever-pale skin alluding to his imaginary illness. “I am, Xander, thank you,” he said demurely, clicking shut the door to the dining room set aside for their stay. His three siblings were already present, while his father was thankfully absent.

He could have spun his supposed sickness out for another day, even two if he wanted, though he doubted he could have gleaned any more information from another trip outside the grounds. He wasn’t especially keen on dealing with Odin again, either, and if he was honest with himself that had probably been the deciding factor. At least now he had a few general directions he thought he could research in once he had access to the royal library again, and that was better than yesterday.

“You missed  _ all  _ the fun yesterday, Leo,” Elise said with a pout, seemingly unaware of the dot of jam on her upper lip. “The jousting was  _ so cool,  _ and Silas won a prize at one of the dart games!”

“I’d be more impressed by that if those games weren’t all rigged,” Leo said loftily, reaching for a slice of toast off the center platter.

“Well, shouldn’t you be  _ more  _ impressed?” Elise asked. “‘Cause wouldn’t the games be rigged so you  _ lose?  _ Doesn’t that mean Silas had to be even  _ better  _ to win?”

“Elise,” Camilla said indulgently, before the two youngest siblings could spring into a full-blown argument. “There is more important news at hand besides Silas’s skill with a dart.”

“Oh, right!” Elise said.

“News?” Leo asked. “What sort of news?”

A beat passed. “Camilla,” Xander finally said, “has a new retainer.”

Leo paused with his toast halfway to his mouth. “She does?”

“Her name is Selena,” Camilla said, “and she won the swordsman tournament yesterday.”

“Selena,” Leo said flatly. “You don’t mean—”

“Ah, you do remember her,” Camilla said, nonchalantly spearing a bit of egg on her fork. “Yes, that spitfire of a redhead who came to Krakenburg with Laslow. She’s quite lovely, actually. Father was right to bring her in for me.”

Leo set down his toast without having actually taken a bite. “And you don’t think that’s… odd?” he ventured. “That Father has so abruptly taken an interest in handing out retainers like candy—”

“With the current tension in both Hoshido and Cheve,” Xander cut in, “I find it more than reasonable for Father to look at filling out the ranks for the sake of our protection. I would not be surprised if you were next in line, Leo.”

“I’m still holding out for Silas,” Leo replied a little sullenly, meeting his brother’s gaze. “Whenever you decide you’re… finished with him.”

“Not yet,” said Xander. “Laslow is hardly ready to handle the position on his own. You’ll have to manage a bit longer, little brother.”

_ Unsurprising,  _ Leo thought dryly, though he was wise enough not to voice it.

He couldn’t quite bury a flinch as the door swung open once more—Garon never dined with them in Krakenburg, but he wasn’t sure if that held true in Tuefell.

To his relief, though, it was not his father in the doorway—it was Hans. “Your Highnesses.”

“Hans,” Xander greeted in return, only the slightest uptick of his brows betraying his surprise.

“His Majesty requests the presence of Prince Leo in the northern garden.”

Leo swallowed hard, once more setting down his toast without actually taking a bite of it. “I see,” he said. Come to think of it, he didn’t much want the toast anymore. With deliberate care, he set his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “I will meet him immediately, then.”

Camilla let out a soft chuckle. “It seems Xander had quite the foresight, didn’t he?”

_ Gods, I hope not,  _ Leo thought, having to force one foot in front of the other at the realization. Odd enough it had been when Laslow was first brought in, odder still now with Selena—surely Garon wasn’t about to force a third person into the mix only the next day?

Leo pushed down the dread rising in his throat and let the dining room door fall shut behind him.

~~~

“My son.”

Leo thought, distantly, that such words ought to have been spoken with affection. They had never been directed toward  _ him  _ that way, however—not in his father’s strident tone nor with his mother’s cloying voice. Perhaps the only one of his siblings who had ever been lucky enough for that privilege had been Xander.

“Father,” he returned, stepping past the guards that flanked the shadowed gateway to the garden. Calling it a garden was probably overgenerous—a few especially hardy trees sprouted from the harsh soil, branches hanging over the stone bench Garon sat on. Leo knelt, then straightened, resisting the urge to brush self-consciously at his knee. “What do you require of me?”

“Sit,” said Garon, gesturing toward the second bench that stood kitty-corner from his.

Leo sat.

Garon’s gaze was fixed on some point on the distant horizon, not on Leo, when he spoke again. “I intended to speak with you last night.”

“My apologies, Father,” Leo said, the words spilling past his lips as reflex. “I was unwell.”

“So I heard.” Garon’s mountainous shoulders heaved in a sigh. “It matters not.”

Leo resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been caught in his lie.

“The times we live in,” Garon began again, “grow more tremulous by the day.”

“I agree,” Leo said with a sinking feeling in his stomach that this conversation was straying far too close to Xander’s earlier words.

“My concerns for the safety of my children,” Garon said, “would be greatly eased by granting you all second retainers.”

_ There it was.  _ “I could not agree more, Father,” Leo said, though his tongue felt leaden forming the words. “Hence my intent to bring in Silas at the beginning of the year—”

“A pity that fell through,” Garon interjected.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s  _ fallen through— _ Xander only intends to hang on to him for a little while longer, and then he would be free to—”

“Unfortunately,” said Garon, “the state of the world at current does not allow for such tarrying. As such, I have chosen a second retainer for you myself.”

A hot retort sprang to Leo’s lips that he had to forcibly clench his teeth against. “So soon?” he finally managed.

“It has been on my mind for some time, my son.” Garon gestured to one of the guards, who bowed and ducked through the doorway. “The great Anankos has smiled upon me to bring such a competent trio into our lives in our moment of need.”

Leo swallowed, fighting the shiver that went up his spine. Just when had his father’s allegiance to Nohr’s patron god, the Dusk Dragon, shifted to this mysterious Anankos? It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name mentioned.

He dared not question it and he hadn’t had the time to think up something else to say when the guard returned. He bowed again, gesturing to the figure behind him—

Leo froze.

This was  _ not  _ happening.

“Oh great dark prince! Make note of the date for generations to come—for from this day, I am compelled to serve you with dying breath! But fear not, for Odin Dark is not in the habit of yielding to death’s cold embrace! My heart and mind are yours to command from this moment forward!”

_ That’s it,  _ Leo thought.  _ There is officially some god I have offended who now has it out for me. _

Odin was kneeling before him now, a hand over his heart, and it took every ounce of strength Leo had to keep his tone level. “I see. On your feet then, Odin.”

“Yes, milord!” Odin straightened, his eyes sparkling. Leo, meanwhile, had to fight from sending his father a seething gaze that would hopelessly betray  _ his  _ thoughts on the matter.

“You’re dismissed,” said Garon, his eyes still fixed on some distant point. “Go acquaint yourselves.”

“Of course,” said Leo. Then, though the words burned his throat, “Thank you, Father.” He rose, brushing past Odin without a backward glance, merely crooking his finger as he went. Odin followed dutifully.

“Truly, fate has smiled upon us to bring our dark and twisted paths to cross once more!” Odin said once they were out of earshot of the king’s guards.

“Truly indeed,” Leo said dryly.

A long moment passed before Odin, dogged on Leo’s heels, spoke again. “Milord? Are we perhaps still a touch wrong-footed from the circumstances of our erstwhile adventure? I assure you I hold no ill-will for your underestimation of my skills—it is but once in a lifetime that one meets a legend such as I, after all—”

“No,” said Leo. “That isn’t a problem.” A half-truth at best, but the real problem at the moment was that his father had  _ saddled  _ him with Odin. Xander, at least, had had some shade of independence, at least a  _ show  _ that he could have refused Laslow if he hadn’t wanted him, but Leo?

Leo was simply  _ stuck. _

“I should probably inform you,” Odin cut in, “that I won’t be joining you in the capital immediately—it’s all worked out with His Majesty already—I merely have a some things left to be finished here, a few favors for His Grace, and not to mention my daugh—”

“Yes,” Leo interjected. “That’s fine.” He’d get a few days of respite at least.

He forced himself to take three long, deep breaths as they entered into Diabola’s courtyard proper, bursting with people who were quickly spilling outside the walls. One familiar figure crested the sea of faces with a speed that betrayed he’d been looking.

“Lord Leo,” Niles said, though he only glanced at his liege for a moment. “And you… must be Odin.”

“Indeed!” Odin said, striking a pose and then launching into a spiel Leo was quickly learning was best tuned out. Niles’s expression seemed to grow more befuddled by the moment, and Leo was still  _ stuck. _

_ Now what?  _ he thought. He’d lost his chance at Silas and he had no hope of dismissing Odin against his father’s will, not for the foreseeable future at least—

Unless…

“Odin,” Leo said, the edge of a comfortingly familiar smirk coming to his features. “Go on ahead to the stables. Niles will show you where my horse’s things are—I wish to go for a ride.”

Odin nodded, a gleeful light in his eyes at being presented with his first task. Niles, meanwhile, shot Leo an incredulous look.

“Milord?”

“A moment of your time before you go, Niles,” Leo said loftily. “Go on ahead, Odin.”

“Of course, milord! My knowledge of equine minutiae will surely not fail you—” And off Odin went, still spouting verbosity until that finally faded into the crowd.

“...Sorry, milord,” Niles said once Odin was out of earshot. “I would’ve warned you, but I only just learned myself.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Leo replied, crossing his arms and gazing after Odin even though his new retainer had long disappeared into the crowd.

A beat passed. “...Lord Leo?” Niles ventured again. “Pardon my confusion, but…”

“Yes?”

“Your  _ horse?”  _ Niles whispered. “You’re usually so…”

“Particular about him?” Leo said dryly.

“Protective, maybe,” Niles replied in a similar tone.

“Yes. Well,” Leo said. “Hati does take a… certain touch.”

“Oh,  _ indeed,”  _ Niles drawled. “Much like his rider, I daresay—”

“Hush, you. That’s not what I meant,” Leo said, cursing the fact his reddening cheeks would, as always, give him away with regards to Niles’s perpetual innuendos. “You see, though, that I’m rather caught between a rock and a hard place on the matter of Odin. Unless, of course... Odin gets it in his head to dismiss  _ himself.” _

A long moment passed before Niles let out a low bark of laughter. “So the first thing you do is sic your warhorse on him?”

Leo paused, momentarily torn—maybe he really should just go down there himself—when Niles chuckled again.

“How delightfully sadistic of you, milord. I’m terribly proud of you.”

“Take your pride and show him where Hati’s tack is,” Leo replied. “The  _ correct  _ tack, please.”

“Of course I’ll give him the correct tack, just what are you implying?”

“I’m implying  _ Laslow,  _ Niles,” Leo said. “And hurry back, if you would. I’m sure Wilhelm has kept aside an arena or two I can appropriate. In the meantime…” He smirked. “Well, let’s see how far Odin’s ‘knowledge of equine minutiae’ takes him, hmm?”

~~~

“Perhaps,” Leo mused as the minutes continued to drag on, “the light at the end of the tunnel may be closer than I realized. Sometimes I think I’m more brilliant than I give myself credit for.”

“I hate to rain on what I am sure is a rather festive and  _ sinfully  _ lovely mental parade, but… Your horse is ready and Odin is still alive,” Niles said dryly.

Leo resisted the urge to sigh, turning back by inches to find Odin with Hati in tow, looking significantly less charmed than he had half an hour ago. “Your mighty steed, milord,” Odin said, his voice resigned as he offered the reins.

“Thank you,” Leo said, his voice light and prim. “Did he behave himself?”

A beat passed. “He behaved… as any grand… and imposing… and hot-blooded destrier ought to behave himself,” Odin finally offered.

_ Good boy,  _ Leo thought, giving an absent scratch to Hati’s neck as he swung the reins over his head. Hati’s ears flicked back, his tail swishing in response.  _ Typical,  _ Leo thought, moving to drop the stirrups and tighten the girth. The latter earned another irritated swipe of Hati’s tail, and that one struck stingingly home on Leo’s cheek.

“Behave,” Leo chided as he gathered his reins and vaulted aboard.

Hati, evidently, decided to take that as a personal offense.

Leo had hardly hit the saddle when Hati’s back humped in prelude to a buck; there was scarcely time for the ever-present solution of  _ Send him forward!  _ to flash through his mind before instinct guided them into a canter.

He had a few panicked moments when he simply  _ could not  _ pick up his right stirrup, though his boot finally gripped and he finally settled into the rhythm. Gods, but Hati was in rare form today—Leo could almost  _ hear  _ the stallion rattling off a list of complaints he was now taking to task, starting with  _ You put me on a BOAT and you haven’t ridden me and then you rode A DIFFERENT HORSE and now you decided to send in an AMATEUR— _

Part of Leo thought he would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been so focused on staying on. A focus that, in the end, didn’t help him much anyway.

Hati had, after all, managed to dump every person who had ever sat on him. Leo included.

The stallion was very, very good at one thing—lulling riders into a false sense of security. After the initial moment of terror, Leo had gotten him going quite nicely again—and was then stupid enough to relax just a fraction.

He hit the dirt approximately two seconds later.

Leo, prone on his back, had a blistering moment of self-awareness to thank the fact that the only place that had been available to ride had been in the back depths of the castle, where hopefully no one would have been around to watch Nohr’s second prince experience the worst kind of emergency dismount. The second moment he remembered that he absolutely  _ had  _ had an audience.

“Don’t worry, milord!” Odin called; Leo craned his neck far enough to see his newfound retainer hop the fence. “I shall catch your fearsome beast for you—”

Hati, who had come to halt as soon as he’d ejected Leo, gave one look at Odin and took off at extended trot, his tail flagging in the wind. It wouldn’t have been more clear if he’d spoken:  _ You’ll catch me when I’m good and ready, human. _

Leo sent an upside-down, pleading glance at Niles, then laid his head back in the dirt and let himself have one melodramatic groan.


	15. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’ve never had one question, so comfortable, living life so certain  
>  Let me tell you about this, then, no one really knows the truth—no, not you  
> There are monsters in the sky, there are demons in the sea  
> I have seen them with my eyes, I’ve seen what you won’t see  
> Pull the wool out from your eyes, it won’t shade your frail belief  
> In the end we cannot hide, there are other worlds than these…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first portion of this chapter... was not especially fun to write, for reasons I'm sure will be obvious. Then again, "Other Worlds Than These" (Starset) is one of my favorite songs for this universe, and it's a perfect fit for the early days of Laslow and Xander. I totally recommend a listen.
> 
> The LAST section of this chapter, however? Well, it's been a plot I've had planned since almost the beginning of the series--over a year and a half, probably close to two.
> 
> And I haven't been able to say a WORD until now.
> 
> *gleefully rubs hands*

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—June 4, 635**

They could have been in a crowd of thousands, Laslow thought, and still the three of them would group together like this—simply from the fact theirs was a bond forged in fire across two timelines, three worlds, and more wars than was worth counting.

There was something odd about the three of them now standing there as the respective retainers to Lord Xander, Lady Camilla, and Lord Leo, however.

“So,” Laslow finally said, leaning up against the stone wall of the hallway outside Odin’s room. “This is an interesting turn of events.”

“You’re saying that like you had nothing to do with it,” Selena said, arching a brow.

“Because I _didn’t,”_ Laslow replied. “I don’t think Lord Xander would take my advice on what to eat for breakfast, no less me pitching my friends as servants to his _beloved younger siblings.”_

“So you’re saying His Majesty magically came up with the idea of hiring us all _independently?”_ Odin asked. “Because I find that idea even less likely. He shouldn’t even know _me—_ I wasn’t with you guys when you went to the capital! I haven’t been to the capital period!”

Laslow held his arms out. “Well quit looking at me, because I didn’t say anything! I barely _thought_ anything!”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Selen muttered dryly.

_“Hey.”_

“That _would_ explain a lot about you, my friend,” Odin mused.

_“Hey!”_

“Okay, cut it, you two,” Selena said, making a slicing gesture across her throat.

“You started it,” Odin grumbled in response, though he promptly shut up at Selena’s glare.

“If it wasn’t Laslow’s doing,” she continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “we’ve gotta assume it was Iago, then.”

Laslow blew out a breath before leaning back against the wall, linking his hands behind his head, and crossing one ankle over the other. “Yeah, I guess so,” he admitted. “Dunno what he’s playing at with it, though.”

“It’s weird for sure,” Selena said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “But I guess it’s worked out in our favor. We’ve _gotta_ keep an eye on that guy, though.”

Laslow nodded. “I must admit, though,” he said, “I am just a little bit vindicated you guys will shortly understand my pain.” Selena rolled her eyes, to which he responded, “Oh, don’t give me that.”

“At least _your_ liege’s chosen mount doesn’t have the blackened inner soul of a demon,” Odin said. “I nearly lost no less than three limbs. And my left eye.”

“Don’t complain,” Selena snapped. “Lady Camilla rides a _wyvern._ Besides, your liege is still _technically_ a child.”

A beat passed. “Speaking of children,” Laslow said, raising his brows pointedly at Odin.

An unreadable expression flickered across his cousin’s face. “That’s all been arranged,” he explained. “There’s a servants’ creche in Castle Krakenburg for such circumstances as ours. Ophelia will be living there.”

Laslow searched Odin’s gaze for a second before he asked, “And you’re okay with that? Trust me, you’re going to be working your little behind off, there won’t be much time to see her.”

“And what are my other options, pray tell?” Odin asked a little testily.

Laslow shrugged. “I mean, Selena and I can handle the royalty recon if we need to. If you wanted to just stay in Windmire and keep to something a little less… perilous.”

“Perilous?” Odin asked. “Do you so doubt my ability to handle _peril,_ cousin? Rescind your words, lest I be forced to—”

“All right, all right!” Laslow quickly interjected, holding his hands up. “It was just a suggestion! Stay that fell hand of yours, geez.”

Odin, thankfully, fell silent, though there was a spark of discontent in his eyes that revealed he was more unhappy about the situation than he let on.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Selena finally said abruptly. “Got another long day of… retainer-ing ahead of me.”

“Yeah, good point,” Laslow admitted. “What time’s Lord Leo want you in the morning, Odin?”

“Ehm… I think he said eight?” Odin ventured.

Aghast, Laslow said, “What? Lord Xander makes me come in at _six.”_ He sighed dramatically, then glanced between the other two. “Either of you want to switch?”

“Nay! My loyalty is henceforth to the dark lord!” Odin cried, which nearly drowned out Selena’s flat “No.”

Laslow sighed. “Well, have fun with _the dark lord_ then,” he said. “And Selena, dear, do let Lady Camilla know that I think she is the very image of loveliness.”

“I would rather stick a needle in my eye.”

~~~

**Port of Jakell, Diabola, Nohr—June 10, 635**

The tournament came to its end without much else of note happening. Duke Wilhelm had had a steady shadow over his face through the entire week and Laslow had heard the occasional murmured reports of more Faceless attacks, though none had come close to the capital itself. By the last evening, the royal family had been packed and ready to take their leave once more.

As before, the line of retainers—plus Silas and minus Odin, who would be coming a few days later—were stretched out behind the siblings as they wound through the port an hour west of Tuefell. The people parted for them, of course, but as they drew nearer to the docks the crowd began to press in a way that left Laslow faintly anxious.

The boat already awaited them, slightly adrift as the swirling Tiefgrund passed it by. Activity burst out as soon as they neared—riders dismounting, guards taking horses, sailors wrestling with bags.

And something _else._

Laslow wasn’t sure if it was some boost Anankos had given him or just too many years of watching over his shoulder that tipped him off. He glanced over towards Selena, wanting to ask if she felt it too, only to find her on the other side of the royal family’s knot.

He’d made it halfway to her when unease flickered into full-blown alarm.

A figure strode over the dock, cloaked in black, their steps unwavering. The tip of a sword emerged from the bottom of their cover, not unusual but for the way the figure’s hand disappeared into the folds in search of the hilt.

Their path did not stray from their course of intersection with the royal family.

Laslow hesitated, just for a moment; the figure picked up the pace until Laslow could no longer ignore everything about them that screamed _threat._

_“Lady Elise!”_

Elise, still cooing at her horse with her back to the danger, jumped at his shout—as did the figure now paces from her. Laslow hadn’t broken into a sprint a moment too soon, though, and the figure’s sword clashed with Falchion before it made a quarter of a swing.

Shouts came—Elise’s startled scream first, shortly followed by an indecipherable cacophony of royalty and servants alike. Shadows of more cloaks spun in the corners of Laslow’s vision—gods, how many were there?—and, in mere moments, he was once more in the thick of an _army._

He’d scarcely traded three blows with his foe—a woman, he registered faintly as the river’s breeze caught her hood—when the newly familiar flare of Anankos’s magic blazed in his veins. _Seven hells, I’m never gonna get used to that,_ he thought briefly as Effie moved to flank him with a wordless roar. And there was Silas to his right, still mounted, swinging with strikes that Laslow would’ve called choppy if they weren’t so plainly, brutally efficient; a blood-curdling scream as Beruka’s knife caught someone in the throat; Hans, with a manic grin at the right hand of his king; the dark flash of Siegfried as Xander moved to flank the other side; Selena, already falling in with Camilla like they’d fought together for years; Arthur planting himself in front of Elise with the certainty that he _had_ spent years fighting for her; the twang of Niles’s bow and the distinctive humming pulse of the world below as Leo twisted and plied the earth to his will.

 _“Try me on for size!”_ Effie bellowed with a long strike Laslow wouldn’t have wanted to be on the other end of no matter how much armor he was wearing. Their mutual foe merely pivoted around the polearm, zeroing back in on Laslow with a strike that would’ve taken half his thigh off if he’d been a fraction slower blocking it.

“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice deceptively mild for how hard she was pushing him. He struck overhand; she quickly parried.

She could have, he thought wryly, given the Inigo of five years ago a run for his money.

Unfortunately for her, she did not face an Inigo of five years ago. She faced Laslow with fire under his skin, tempered with time and powered by the gift of a god, at what he was being slowly forced to admit was his unparalleled _prime._

Laslow had just enough room to _push—_ in the space where she’d faltered, Falchion now pressed to her throat.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmured as her hand twitched, her own blade inching toward his side. “Drop it.”

The world stilled. The flashes of battle in his peripherals faded and the pulse of Brynhildr beneath his feet died out. Laslow dared not take his eyes off his foe for long enough to see how the fight had gone.

Niles came into view, all but strolling despite the sweat on his brow and the grime on his clothes their struggle had kicked up. “Listen to him, kitten,” he drawled. “Before I lose my patience.”

She still stood statuesque, only her eyes flicking to the other retainer. Niles swiftly caught her shoulder, forcing her to her knees in one motion and slamming the heel of his boot on her swordhand with the next. Laslow did his best to ignore the distinctive _crack_ from that and kept Falchion to her throat unwavering.

Niles tutted. “Should’ve listened.” He lifted his foot, kicking her blade away. “Hands on your head.”

She obeyed, slowly, still glaring. Her cloak slipped from her arm as she did.

Emblazoned just below her elbow was a mark the size of Laslow’s palm. It took him a moment to recognize the inked crest of Nohr—or some corrupted approximation of it, at least, given the jagged line of pale, unmarked flesh that broke the symbol in half.

There was a soft shuffle behind him, followed by a gasp. “Is that…?” Elise whispered.

“The traitor’s brand,” Leo replied in an undertone Laslow could just make out. “Yes. Now hush.”

Even Niles seemed to have backed off a little at the sight. Laslow, meanwhile, resisted the urge to stiffen at the sudden presence behind him.

“Stand down, Laslow,” said Garon in a gravelly tone that sent chills up Laslow’s spine.

Laslow did. He couldn’t quite help the slight flex of his hand around Falchion’s hilt for the moment after he sheathed it, however.

The mountain of a king stopped just out of reach of the defiant girl. “Your crime,” he said flatly—hardly even a question, merely a statement he expected to be answered.

She responded by spitting at his feet.

A horrible, empty moment passed in silence.

Garon looked at Laslow.

“Kill her.”

The air left his lungs in a rush; it took a long moment for him to find his words again. “What? But Your Majesty, I—”

“She has already been tried for crimes against the crown,” Garon said dismissively. “Merely setting foot within our borders again has left her life forfeit. I do not tolerate repeat offenders.”

“Okay,” Laslow said, not quite sure what he planned on saying but hoping his brain could keep up with his tongue. “But surely there’s another—I mean, that can’t be—”

Garon _twitched,_ a vein popping in his forehead that left Laslow forcibly steeling his muscles to keep from reaching for his blade. _“Kill_ her,” he repeated, “before I begin to question your motives for hesitating.”

Only an expletive served as the correct mental response to that—what a corner he’d gotten himself backed into with the king’s full gaze on him and their attacker at his feet. Laslow was still too new, his background full of too many holes to have earned any sort of _trust_ yet, and if he didn’t—

His stomach roiled as he gave one panicked, half a second glance to Selena. If they couldn’t stay at their newfound posts, if they couldn’t complete the mission Anankos had given them, if they could never go _home—_

His gaze went to Xander.

 _Say something,_ he tried to say. _I can’t challenge him, you can, she’s unarmed and defeated, you’re the only one he might listen to, dammit just open your mouth you useless crown prince!_

Xander answered his wordless pleas with only an unwavering gaze.

Laslow swallowed, having to force his hand to curl around Falchion’s hilt. Could he fight it? Cut and run now in the last moments before his soul was stained just a little bit blacker? Abandon his position and seek the end of their nebulous mission in a different fashion?

_Too many variables. Too much at stake._

_Gods forgive me._

~~~

**On the River Tiefgrund, west of Diabola, Nohr—June 10, 635**

It was two hours after their boat departed before Laslow could bring himself to stand at the door to Xander’s quarters. Five minutes more passed before he could bring himself to actually knock.

“Come,” said Xander; then, flatly, “Laslow.”

“Milord,” he returned. It could have been the same scene as when Xander had summoned him after the Stoneborn incident; the room and the layout might have varied, but the crown prince sat at a different desk in the exact same position.

Xander’s gaze flicked briefly to the bandage on Laslow’s left hand, though he thankfully did not make an inquiry on it. Laslow resisted the urge to hide it behind his back anyway—it was his own idiotic fault that he’d decided to run his thumb up Falchion’s edge like he expected the divine blade to have suddenly rejected him for its most recent use. _Stupid,_ he chided himself yet again—Falchion answered to the strength of one’s convictions, after all, not the compass of one’s morality. Otherwise, the reign of Laslow’s own grandfather would have been a very different story indeed.

The thoughts of the so-called Mad Exalt only drew an uncomfortable parallel to the king Laslow currently found himself serving.

“You could have stopped that,” he finally brought himself to say, voice hoarser than he expected.

“Unlikely,” Xander replied.

“You could have _tried.”_

“To what end, Laslow?” Xander asked sharply. “The traitor’s brand is only given as punishment to crimes warranting banishment—setting foot in Nohr again warranted her death, even without _orchestrating an attack on the royal family.”_

“Still—she was beaten and disarmed already—”

“And she would have put her sword through _your_ throat without a moment’s hesitation had the circumstances been reversed.”

“Is that supposed to be a defense?” Laslow asked.

“Your protests make little sense,” Xander said, raising a brow.

“Oh, well, just excuse my poor little nonsensical conscience, then,” Laslow snapped. He hadn’t quite intended to, but he resisted the urge to wince at the response his too-quick tongue would surely bring down on him.

“Your _conscience?_ Laslow, you hardly fight like a man whose hands are clean.”

That _did_ make Laslow wince. “Maybe they’re not,” he admitted. “But at least I kill my enemies on their own two feet.”

Then, without warning, Xander’s voice dropped into the same flat, dead tone in which Garon had demanded to know the woman’s crime. “If you find yourself incapable of performing the duties required of you, you are welcome to take your leave.”

Despite how readily he’d considered the idea earlier, Laslow had to fight to breathe around the sudden tightness in his chest. “That won’t be necessary,” he got out.

Xander nodded. “It may be hard for you to understand,” he said, his tone almost saccharine with its sudden patronization, “and more difficult still to apply, but sometimes unpleasant concessions must be made in the name of peace.”

And just when Laslow thought there was going to be an anticlimactic end to the discussion. “You think this is _peace?”_ he demanded. “You’ve got packs of Faceless ransacking the land, Hoshido poking at your borders, and Cheve under _indefinite martial law,_ and you call that _peace?”_

“Considering the nuances of all three of those things and the resources available to allocate to them, yes, I would. Father is currently doing his best to balance several incredibly difficult situations at once.”

Despite his best efforts, Laslow couldn’t quite hold back an open scoff at that. He earned a dark look in return.

“When you rule your own country, Laslow,” Xander said testily, “you may run it as you see fit. In the meantime, perhaps consider giving a little more credit to one who has spent thirty years doing so—and who, I might also point out, _pays your salary.”_

Laslow had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from spouting off in about sixteen directions just what he thought of _that._ “Understood, milord,” he forced out.

“In the future, have the respect to refrain from speaking ill of your sovereign king. It is the least you could do to repay the favors he has done you personally and the land of Nohr as a whole. I should not have to teach you this, Laslow.”

 _...You are so gods-damned blind,_ Laslow thought. Several moments passed before he trusted himself to speak and not say such a thing aloud. “If it pleases milord,” he finally said, “I’m going to take my leave now.”

“Very well,” said Xander.

Laslow didn’t stick around and wait for him to change his mind.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 18, 635**

So Laslow was _probably_ stretching the definition of his errand and Xander would _definitely_ be pissed off if he found out.

 _Let him be pissed,_ Laslow thought with a malicious edge that seemed to suddenly be ever-present in his thoughts. _Maybe he’ll finally see something from a reasonable angle._

Still, his detour would probably only last for twenty minutes or so, and if that ended with him having to get in Xander’s face again, so be it.

Krakenburg had been relatively quiet since their return—even Odin’s arrival a few days later hadn’t changed that. Not that Laslow had seen much of his cousin since then; from the look of it, Leo was dogging Odin just as hard as Xander did Laslow. Odin seemed to be enjoying it more, though. Maybe the novelty hadn’t worn off yet.

Laslow doubted the downtime would last, though. Leo’s birthday was at the end of the month, and judging by the whispers even the second prince’s coming of age was liable to be quite the event. At least Laslow’s involvement in such an event wouldn’t include any more than making his appearance the day of, though judging by how things had been going he half-expected Xander to lecture him on a dozen rules of etiquette that he’d broken simply from not knowing them until after the fact.

 _Quiet,_ however, was the exact opposite of the situation Laslow currently found himself in.

A dozen children were scattered in the room he’d been directed to—the playroom for the servants’ creche—ranging in age from two to about ten. A few were gathered around some board game, while others were engaged in more active pursuits and still more were keeping to themselves. The three maids supervising looked to have their hands full.

Ophelia seemed to have been watching the board game with rapt attention, though not actually participating, and she looked up with wide eyes at Laslow’s entrance. “Uncle _Laslow!”_ she cried with enough enthusiasm that six other children looked over, though they quickly lost interest as she charged over, dragging Potato the Pegasus by a wing.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said as she proceeded to attach himself to his knee. “Missed me?”

Rather than giving him the satisfaction of admitting that, Ophelia immediately launched in a spiel reminiscent of her father about her new bed, which of the maids were the nicest, the children she shared her new room with, the amazing new games she’d been playing, and how _no one_ knew _anything_ about all her favorite stories.

 _Because your dad made half of your favorite stories up on the spot,_ Laslow thought. _And the half he didn’t are the ones that are even more unbelievable._ At some point in her tirade he’d tired of standing, and was now sitting cross-legged in an out of the way corner. “Well, I’m glad you’re making friends,” he said when he could get a word in edgewise. It was one good thing coming from all of this, he thought—barring Lucina’s boys, Ophelia hadn’t had much in the way of steady contemporaries.

“Yeah,” Ophelia said. A moment later, though, she sobered. “I miss Daddy, though.”

“I’m sure you do,” Laslow murmured.

Ophelia cocked her head. “Do you miss Aunt Say’ri?”

His heart briefly stuttered. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. A lot.”

Ophelia nodded sagely.

“Hey,” Laslow said brightly, before he could dwell too much on that. “I’ve got something for you.” Ophelia lit up in the way only a toddler could as he fumbled in his pocket. “Here.”

“Is it a _holy moonstone?”_ she gasped as he produced a fist-sized, glittering stone. Only Ophelia, Laslow thought fondly.

“...Absolutely,” he said.

Grasping it eagerly, Ophelia inspected the rock, then heaved a sigh. “No,” she said. “It isn’t.”

“Oh,” said Laslow. “Guess my moonstone identifying skills aren’t quite up to snuff, huh?”

“It’s okay,” Ophelia said brightly.

She was stopped from continuing by a nearby, blood-curdling scream.

Laslow reached for his hip on instinct, though his hand came up empty considering the fact he wasn’t currently armed. The tension in his shoulders faded a moment later, though, as the cry came again.

A pink-haired girl of perhaps Ophelia’s age stood stock-still, clutching a toy kitten—a recently _beheaded_ toy kitten, judging by the stuffing spilling from its neck.

 _“You killed Lady Whiskers!”_ the girl wailed at an older boy, who shifted just enough that Laslow could see the stuffed toy’s head in his hand. “You _killed_ her! Meanie! Jerk!”

The older boy merely sneered at her accusations, a hot retort clearly on his lips when one of the supervising maids stepped in. With a low word and a sharp gesture, she convinced him to hand over the head, though he rolled his eyes and glared when he did. The body, too, was shortly handed over, though the poor girl looked like she was giving up a limb to do so.

“We’ll fix it,” the maid said, though her voice was dull and without sincerity. Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

Ophelia peered after her for a moment, then glanced at Laslow, and finally at the pink-haired girl. Evidently making her decision, she approached the other girl. “Hey,” she said. “It’s okay. Lady Whiskers died a valiant hero.”

The girl stared at her for a moment, then burst into tears and fell on her butt.

Ophelia gazed at her, puzzled, until Laslow called her—once softly, then again a little louder.

“I don’t get it,” Ophelia said forlornly as she came back over. “Lady Whiskers is a great hero for defending her.”

Laslow rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, “just because someone dies heroically doesn’t mean people won’t miss them afterward.” He paused, then added, “Like your mother. Your dad misses her a lot, yeah?”

“But Mama didn’t die,” Ophelia said. “She’s on a grand quest. And she’ll come back.”

It took a long moment before Laslow could form an answer. “Right,” he finally said, the word bitter. “Bad example. But does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Ophelia said, shrugging and glancing back at the still sobbing girl. No one had made any move to comfort her.

Laslow’s heart seized for a moment before he forced his gaze away. “All right, kiddo, I gotta go,” he said. “Enjoy your present.”

Ophelia brightened, nodding. “Bye, Uncle Laslow!”

Laslow grinned at her, got to his feet, and ruffled her hair as he went. He had just enough time to congratulate himself on hopefully not taking long enough for Xander to notice when he pulled up short.

The wide button eyes of a stuffed kitten’s head stared at him from a nearby trash can.

Laslow frowned, leaning over to discern whether there was anything too disgusting to be worth touching before he fished both head and body of the toy free from the refuse.

 _Poor thing,_ he thought, glancing back toward the playroom even though the door had swung closed behind him. _So much for fixing it._

“Hey,” he heard himself say as the maid who had broken up the children’s fight came back down the hallway. He held up the cat. “The little girl who this belongs to—who are her parents?” The least he could do was return the toy for repairs—he was sure Odin would hope someone would do the same if it had been Ophelia’s.

The maid glanced him up and down for a long moment, her gaze disdainful. “Her parents are dead,” she said flatly. “She’s a ward.”

 _A ward that lives in the palace?_ Laslow thought. Had her parents been nobility or high-up statesmen, perhaps? “I see,” he said, glancing at the toy again. Well, he _could_ sew. He was no master at it, but the project couldn’t be too complicated, and surely the girl would rather have the cat back with a thready scar than have no cat at all, wouldn’t she?

“I need to go,” the maid said shortly. “If you don’t mind.”

“What’s her name?”

The maid glanced back, annoyance in her eyes at the question hanging in the air.

Laslow shrugged. “Just curious.”

“...Soleil.”


	16. First Thing's First (Part 1) Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo hatches a plan, Odin quickly foils it, Laslow has a bad time, and a bit character returns.

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 25, 635**

“Well, milord… as much as I hate to admit it… despite the fact that he speaks like the offspring of a jester and a thesaurus, and the fact that he has no instincts regarding either self-awareness of self-preservation, and the fact that his background is as shadowed as a Windmire brothel… Odin is actually annoyingly competent.”

Leo sighed, flopping back on his bed and flinging his arm over his face. “This is  _ ridiculous,”  _ he groaned. “How hard is it to get rid of  _ one  _ unwanted retainer?”

“Oh, it’s very hard,” Niles said sympathetically. “Almost too hard to bear…”

“Shut up.”

A knock sounded; Leo forced himself to sit upright again before calling “Come.”

“Milord!” Odin said, his voice as bright as ever. “The evening hour tolls as my latest task is complete! Have you anything else you require of me as your people slip into their slumber?”

Leo bit back another sigh. Must the man always be so cursedly  _ enthused?  _ Every task he’d thrown at Odin had met with the same grandiose response—even things far beneath the typical purview of a retainer and more typically suited for the maids and butlers.

“No, Odin, that’s fine,” he said. “Have a good night.”

“Of course! And you as well, milord!”

“Wait.”

Odin turned back, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

Leo paused, holding up a finger an idea clicked into place. Oh, this might  _ work.  _ “Actually,” he said, thinking quickly. “There is something I need from you. Something terribly important.”

Odin’s face lit up. “Important? Of course, I shall complete your task with all haste! What do you require of me?”

“I need you to find me something,” Leo said, the words coming to his mouth as quickly as they entered his head. “Something I need for an arcane ritual that I do not possess. I need you to find me…” He paused, then settled on something that sounded suitably ridiculous. “A lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness.”

Odin’s eyes went wide. “A lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness,” he repeated reverently. “Haha! Of course! There would be none better than myself for such a task—er, no offense, Niles.”

“Oh,  _ none  _ taken,” said Niles. “It’s obvious you’re better suited for such a  _ sinfully  _ difficult task.”

Odin nodded obliviously. “Lord Leo? Where would you suggest I begin my search for this artifact?”

“There’s a place on the western edge of Diabola known as the Demon’s Falls,” Leo said smoothly. “Perhaps you should start there?”

“The Demon’s Falls,” Odin murmured. “How suitably majestic! I’ll depart at dawn, milord!”

“Excellent,” said Leo. “I trust you’ll have a fruitful journey, Odin. Rest well.”

Odin nodded, then departed with a typically purple farewell. No sooner did the door close did Leo turn a triumphant grin to Niles.

“What?” the prince asked at his retainer’s narrow look.

“Just wondering if you’ve forgotten something, milord.”

“Forgotten what?”

“It’s a six-day round trip to the Demon’s Falls from here,” Niles pointed out. “Minimum. Realistically more like seven or eight. And probably longer than that, considering from your tone I’m going to make the wild assumption that a ‘lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness’ doesn’t actually exist.”

“Mmhmm,” Leo said, then gestured proddingly.

“Your birthday is in  _ five  _ days, Lord Leo.”

“Well,  _ yes,  _ Niles, that’s sort of the  _ point,”  _ Leo said. “I would prefer to only have to wrangle  _ one  _ loud-mouthed retainer during the proceedings of my coming-of-age party.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about Beruka, milord,” Niles said without missing a beat.

Leo rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining. I just got our resident nuisance out of our hair for at least the better part of a week, didn’t I?”

Niles lifted a brow. “Does that mean you’ll set  _ me _ to scrubbing the windows and fluffing the bedspread?”

“That,” Leo said, idly crossing his ankles, “depends on how many smart comments you make over the next week.”

“Do you mean smart, or do you mean smart _ ass?”  _ Niles asked. “Because I would be  _ flattered,  _ milord, if you truly were commenting on the smartness of my—”

“Niles?” Leo said sweetly.

“Yes, Lord Leo?”

“Out.”

~~~

**Windmire Underground, Nohr—June 25, 635**

“This is… kind of amazing.”

“Yeah,” Laslow admitted. “It kind of is.”

Windmire stretched out before them—the  _ real  _ Windmire, not the dank and winding roads above. The city bustled around them, full of shouts and flashing colors, interchangeable with any other busy urban night. Barring the stylistic differences, it would have been indiscernible from Ylisstol or Dai’chi—but for the fact it was entirely underground.

“How long do you think it took to carve this all  _ out?”  _ Selena asked, standing on her tiptoes to peer over the crowd. The heavy stone ceiling swept onward above their heads, stretching too far for the end to be visible.

“And how’d you find out about it?” Odin added.

Laslow shrugged. “Niles tipped me off. Said something about my keen eye and saving Lady Elise the other day. ‘Course, he didn’t put it  _ quite  _ like that.”

Selena blew out a snort. “Yeah, I’m sure he didn’t.”

“Anyways,” Laslow continued. “He mentioned not to tell our lieges about it and recommended a good place for a drink. He said, and I quote ‘I at least owe you a decent drink for it. Not that you should expect me to pay for it or anything.’”

Selena, however, latched on to a different part of the sentence. “Not tell them about it?” she asked. “Like what, they don’t  _ know?  _ How do you not know about an entire  _ city  _ right under your feet?”

Laslow shrugged again. “That was all he said. I didn’t ask about the details. C’mon, I think it’s this way.”

The address he’d been directed to looked enough like a tavern, though the windows were too heavily tinted for him to see inside and, when he tried the door, he found it locked.

“Huh,” said Laslow. “Maybe I got the wrong—”

The door opened, a burly man who would’ve been nearly eye-to-eye with Xander standing in the opening. “Buzz off,” he snapped.

“Er,” Laslow said. “Is this… Nether’s Brink?”

“And that’s your business how?” the man asked.

Laslow paused, giving a sidelong glance at his compatriots. “I was told to tell you… Zero sent us?”

At once, the man’s expression changed. “Well, you shoulda  _ said  _ so,” he said, standing aside and gesturing them in.

“‘Zero’?” Selena asked under her breath.

Laslow shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

“I didn’t know Niles had an awesome secret code name,” Odin grumbled.

“Yes, well, this might be news to you, my friend, but Niles doesn’t exactly like you,” Laslow replied. Then, hoping to soften his cousin’s wounded expression, he hurriedly added, “Then again, Niles doesn’t seem to like anyone. Except Lord Leo.”

The tavern opened before them, filled with the familiar heady warmth of too many bodies in close quarters and the sharp scent of spirits. “Oh, Laslow, you take us to the nicest places,” Selena drawled.

Laslow snorted and headed for a table.

“Speaking of Lord Leo,” Selena continued as they went, glancing at Odin, “How’s it feel to be a babysitter?”

“I’m not a babysitter,” Odin protested.

“He’s, like, seventeen,” Selena pointed out. “That’s basically still a baby.”

“It really isn’t,” Odin grumbled.

“When  _ we  _ were seventeen,” Selena shot back, “Laslow was making extremely questionable decisions about romantic entanglements with Grimleal dark mages.”

“Hey! I literally  _ did not ask.” _

“Yeah, you never have to ask about that,” Selena said.

“Because I would be perfectly content if you never brought it up again!” Laslow exclaimed.

“But that would be boring, my friend.” Odin grinned, ignored Laslow rolling his eyes, and changed the subject. “Besides, my dark liege will have reached the Nohrian age of majority by the end of the week, remember?”

“Yeah, sure, being legal makes all the difference,” Selena said.

“You know Lady Camilla is younger than we are too, right?” Laslow pointed out. “The ground you’re standing on is getting a little shaky.”

Selena didn’t seem to quite have an answer for that—she opened her mouth, closed it again, then rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

A short silence before Laslow mused, “I wonder when we’ll get to meet Lady Corrin.”

“On the first,” Selena said nonchalantly, then waved a hand when both boys glanced at her. “For Lord Leo’s birthday. Lady Camilla says they always celebrate up there with her; they’re just doing it a day late since he’s got that stupid ball the day of.” She drummed a hand on the table. “Okay, I’m getting drinks.”

“Are you buying?” Laslow asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not. Cough it up.”

Laslow sighed and reached for his wallet.

“So,” he said to Odin once she had gone. “How are  _ you  _ holding up?”

Odin puffed out his chest. “A fair bit better than you, my friend,” he said. “Lord Leo has already recognized my unparalleled skill and assigned me a grand and important mission no other could accomplish! I depart at dawn in my great search to find him a  _ lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness!” _

Laslow snorted. “Sure you do,” he said, then quirked a brow at Odin’s offended expression. “Wait, how much of that was serious?”

“All of it.”

Blinking, Laslow said, “What? Where? And why?”

“I question not the why, my journey will be to the place known as Demon’s Falls, and I’m sure my own dark knowledge will not fail me in identifying the object of my mission.”

“Oh...kay,” Laslow said. “That’s not weird at all.” He frowned. “Just watch your back, okay?”

“No need! For I am a parent, and thus I have gained eyes in the back of my head,” Odin said with a smirk.

“Yeah, all right,” Laslow said with another roll of his eyes. “Whatever you say. Speaking of, I did drop in on Ophelia the other day. And for the record, I did  _ not  _ bring her a holy moonstone.”

“And what business did you have bringing my daughter such an artifact?” Odin asked.

“It was a rock, Odin. I was brusquely informed that it was  _ not  _ a holy moonstone, like I just said. To her great disappointment.” Laslow still hadn’t had time to stitch Soleil’s kitten back together, which he felt faintly guilty about—not guilty enough to keep him from falling into bed at the end of the day cursing Xander’s early-bird tendencies, though. Then, as Selena came back into view with drinks in hand, he added to her, “Have I mentioned that you look ravishing as always today, Selena?”

She merely lifted a brow at that, her expression unimpressed. “Is there really nothing else rolling around in that big, stupid head of yours?” she asked. “Ravishing this, beauty that?”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean,” Laslow said innocently.

“This is exactly why no one takes you seriously,” she grumbled.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is! You’re a royal retainer,  _ among other things,”  _ she added pointedly. “You might get along with Lord Xander a little better if you started behaving instead of making eyes at everything with legs. The man has sisters, you may remember.”

“...Hmm,” said Laslow thoughtfully. “Nah, probably not.”

“I swear you haven’t grown a bit since we were kids,” she said.

“Selena, you wound me. I’m a far more proficient flirt than the boy I once was. I could demonstrate if you’d like.”

Selena pointedly gagged at that while Odin merely shook his head and began to nurse at his drink. “Are you just looking to get decked tonight, my friend?” the latter asked.

“I’ll do it if no one else wants to oblige you,” Selena offered.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Laslow said dryly, then tilted his head slightly toward a burgeoning commotion on the other side of the room. A subtle commotion, really, spoken more with body language than with words—a young barmaid caught between a rock and a hard place, if the rock was a table and the hard place was the red-faced man leaning over her.

“What are you—” Selena began, then, “Laslow. Laslow,  _ no.” _

In response, Laslow took a long swig from his drink and pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said mildly.

“Ugh,  _ Laslow,”  _ Selena groaned after him.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 26, 635**

Laslow actually  _ scared  _ himself when he looked in the mirror the next morning—the flickering candlelight of pre-dawn only made the impressive dark circles under his eyes look even worse. He wasn’t quite sure if they’d come from the lack of sleep or from last night’s broken nose, but his brain, still addled by the hour, deemed his resemblance to a Risen uncanny. He couldn’t even blame his appearance on a hangover, either—he hadn’t even made it through the first third of his drink.

“Seven hells,” he grumbled to himself, putting just enough effort into untangling his hair to keep Xander from chastising him. Satisfied with the mediocrity, he turned away from the mirror over his dresser, only to succeed in slamming his still-stockinged foot into the corner of his bed frame. A long string of barely muffled curses escaped him, finally culminating in, “It is too  _ gods-damned early  _ to be alive.”

Would it  _ really  _ be so awful to just give up and go back to bed? He found himself actually pondering the idea for a moment before grudgingly admitting that it wasn’t a viable option.

Nohrian mornings themselves he found unsettling to begin with, even without his disdain for the hour.  _ Something  _ in the air pressed at him—it made  _ Laslow  _ crack a little, made  _ Inigo  _ more liable to come to the forefront in a way he had to consciously tamp down before he dared set foot outside his room.  _ Inigo  _ was a prince and an Exalt who could not stand for the way things were, and  _ Laslow  _ could scarcely let him escape if he ever planned on leaving Nohr with his soul intact.

Laslow closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he forced himself through the door.

He arrived in Xander’s room two minutes after six, a worrying development which immediately led into a second—his liege was still bent over a washbasin, towel pressed to his face, hardly the picture of perfect presentation he usually was when Laslow arrived.

“Good morning, Lord Xander,” he said, his voice cheery anyways. “How is milord doing today?”

Wiping the last of the water from his face, Xander glanced up and said flatly, “Not well, I’m afraid.”

Laslow did his best not to flinch, wondering just how much he looked like death at that moment, then said, “I suspected as much, but I’m still sorry to hear it. What troubles you, milord?”

Outside, rain pounded against the wide, diamond-paned windows, an uncomfortable beat in the silence before Xander answered. Distantly, Laslow thought of Odin, likely preparing to leave for his ridiculous mission if he hadn’t already. “I’ve had complaints of a royal retainer hitting on women in town. Some of whom were even in the presence of their spouses at the time.”

_ Well how was I supposed to know she was married?  _ Laslow thought sullenly. “Oh?” he asked. “Do you… know the identity of this gorgeous fiend, milord?”

“It was you, Laslow.”

“Ah, indeed. Once again, your powers of deduction astound me, milord.”

“I received the report only this morning. ‘Royal retainer apprehended by town watch after engagement in tavern melee. Witnesses report he joined the fight in an attempt to impress the local barmaid.’”

Well, that was  _ sort  _ of what happened, Laslow thought, if one looked at it a certain way. The barmaid  _ had  _ seemed momentarily grateful for his intervention, only for him to then come to the unfortunate conclusion that the man harassing her was, in fact, her husband—who hadn’t taken very kindly to said intervention.

And had made that clear by breaking Laslow’s nose.

The rest of that had been rather a blur—not content with one punch, the man had advanced again, and Laslow wasn’t exactly the type to lie down and take it. Selena and Odin had jumped in then, hoping to deescalate the situation, but the man had friends, and it had been just Laslow’s luck that two members of the town watch had come into the bar upon getting off their shift  _ just  _ late enough to miss seeing how the fight had actually started.

Really, he was lucky he hadn’t had to spend the night in jail.

“What possesses you to do such things?” Xander continued; his tone said he wouldn’t be interested in that explanation, though.

“Ah…” Laslow said. “The full moon, perhaps?”

Xander’s eyes narrowed. “This is no laughing matter, Laslow.”

“...No, milord, of course not,” Laslow said.

“I want you to think back on the day we met,” said Xander. “You know you caused quite a stir then, yes?”

Wary at the subject change, Laslow said, “Well, milord, nobles never expect mere commoners to make names for themselves in court… or to be appointed as royal retainers twenty minutes later.”

“Indeed,” said Xander. “You understand that while my father chose you, I felt I had to test you myself. Yet once we began… I found myself taken aback by your strength, Laslow. Your technique, though unusual, was impeccable. At one point, I knew you were merely playing with me. Though I eventually gained the upper hand, I truly feared I might lose the match.”

_ Ah, yes,  _ thought Laslow.  _ That moment where you ‘gained the upper hand.’ Right.  _ At least  _ Niles  _ had been observant enough to know that Laslow had thrown the fight. “I appreciate the compliments, milord, though I’m not quite sure of their purpose.”

“I had never seen someone like you before,” Xander said. “You came from nowhere and possessed such incredible power. I imagined you to be a person of great fortitude and discipline.” He sighed. “It saddens me to know you are nothing more than a lowly womanizer… How you became so strong when you spend all your time chasing girls is beyond me.”

Laslow managed a high chuckle before saying, “It’s a gift, I suppose.”

Xander shook his head. “Though you may disgrace yourself, I won’t abandon my own retainer. Still, I am obliged to take responsibility for any trouble you cause.”

_ That was… less than I expected,  _ Laslow thought. “Well, thank you very much, milord. I appreciate your support. So, what is it you require this morning? I did have some training I was hoping to get to today if you’d give me the time—”

“Hold! We aren’t done here.”

_ Ah. _

Then, speaking as though it were a perfectly reasonable development, Xander said, “I’m putting you under house arrest.”

_ “What?”  _ Laslow cried despite himself. “Seriously? For some harmless flirting and that friendly little scrap?”

“For some time,” Xander continued as if Laslow hadn’t spoken, “you will be forbidden from leaving the castle unescorted. In fact, whenever you are not performing your duties, you will remain in my chamber.”

_ He’s GROUNDING me?  _ “That’s absurd! I’m a grown man!”

Xander merely quirked a brow. “Do you mean to disobey me?”

Laslow paused, fisting his hands behind his back before forcing the acid in his tone into something softer. “No, milord. I’ve no wish to part with my flesh.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

Laslow swallowed. “Yes, milord,” he whispered, resigned.

Distantly, stuck somewhere between Laslow’s heart and his mouth,  _ Inigo  _ seethed.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 30, 635**

_ Ought  _ he feel older?

Leo couldn’t say he  _ did,  _ and judging by the face in the mirror gazing back at him, he didn’t much look it either.

The rich, fine blacks and purples adorning his figure did little for him—Leo thought he looked less like a prince and more like a boy dressing up in one’s clothes. A tall boy, granted, but a gangly one—finally less the baby fat of his youth but without the sinew that should have taken its place. Magic simply didn’t  _ build  _ muscle the way wielding a physical weapon would have; it had granted no definition to his arms nor any breadth to his shoulders. Leo was fairly sure he could have fit entirely inside Xander’s torso if the laws of physics had allowed for it.

And truly, what  _ did  _ change now that Leo was eighteen? Very little, on the grand scheme of things. A few legal matters, sure, but he had been an adult in the eyes of his father if not the law for a good few years now. He was already active in the military, already in line for his knighthood at the end of the year, already involved with the deepest inner workings of Nohrian politics.

_ One  _ thing had changed, though Leo was loath to admit it. At this point, Garon  _ could  _ very well get it into his head to foist Leo into some advantageous political marriage. Just because Xander had never had a potential bride dangled in front of him and Camilla’s one and only fiancé had been murdered in his bed a few weeks after their engagement didn’t mean that Leo was safe from the prospect.

He swallowed, his throat bobbing visibly in the mirror as he did. If he thought it would have done him any good, he would have happily gone to his father and declared his intention to remain a bachelor indefinitely, thank you very much. He’d seen too many marriages crumble under the pressures of the Nohrian court and he’d lived through the hell that had come of scheming concubines. He doubted the meager benefits of potential companionship—which were dubious enough to begin with, since he doubted Garon would take any of Leo’s potential affections into account while arranging a match—outweighed the myriad of risks.

Unhelpfully, his mind conjured Corrin’s beaming face, aglow in the sunset, and Leo was forced to turn his gaze to his shoes as a wave of self-disgust washed over him.

_ That  _ was hardly a viable option anyway.

Niles appeared in his peripherals once more, giving a loose shake to the black velvet mantle in his hands before draping it over Leo’s shoulders. “There we are, milord,” he said as Leo worked the ties at his throat. “And oh, look, everything’s the right side out, too. You’re welcome.”

Leo let out a little snort; thank the gods for Niles, truly, even if the man did drive him up the wall most of the time. He made an excellent distraction from Leo’s bout of gloom.

“I even left a whole twenty minutes just in case you couldn’t manage that, but here we are,” Niles continued with a shrug. “Truly miraculous.”

“You’re treading perilously close to window-scrubbing duties, Niles,” Leo said, half turning from the mirror to fix his retainer with a raised brow. He ruffled his hair slightly as he went—it felt just a little too stiff, his ceremonial circlet heavier than his usual headband.

“Oh, how unfortunate. Here I was hoping you’d have me start with the floors. You do know how much I  _ love  _ being on my knees—”

Niles’s words were cut short by an urgent knock on the door, followed by a cried, “Lord Leo!”

Leo froze, then turned toward the door by inches. “Is that…?” he breathed.

Niles said something far less eloquent.

“Lord Leo?” Odin called again. “I found your lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness and I made it back in time for the vaunted celebration of your birth!” He paused, then added, “Are you in there, milord?”

Leo let out a high-pitched groan, pinched the bridge of his nose, then gestured Niles toward the door.

Odin beamed as it opened—or at least he  _ looked  _ to be beaming under the layers of grime that covered him. A solid layer of dust hung on him, dispersing in clouds that left Leo sighing again as he stepped inside. “Hark, friend Niles! How marvelous to see your face again. Lord Leo! Here is the grand artifact of your request!” He extended his hand, producing a fist-sized, faintly reflective hunk of black rock.

“...Ah, yes,” Leo said slowly, extending his hand to delicately take Odin’s prize. “Of course. Well done. Er… you’re sure this is… a lodestone enhanced with the essence of darkness?”

_ “Imbued,  _ milord!” Odin exclaimed. “Do you doubt my knowledge of darkness? I can assure you it is unparalleled and that which you hold in your hand is genuine!”

Behind him, Niles snickered under his breath, his single eye sparkling with mirth. Leo shot him a dirty look.

“Have I not yet proved my loyalty to you, Lord Leo?” Odin continued, his eyes wide. “Do you so doubt my character as to believe I would bring you a cheap substitute?”

“No,” Leo said quickly. “I don’t doubt that you’re a character.”

Niles clapped a hand over his mouth, a faintly muffled squawk still escaping him that Odin didn’t seem to notice.  _ Stop it, it isn’t funny!  _ Leo tried to convey wordlessly. He didn’t think the message got across.

“...I’m merely impressed with how quickly you managed the journey,” Leo managed to continue smoothly. “You made very good time to the Demon’s Falls and back.” He raised his brow subtly, wondering if Odin would understand Leo’s challenging the fact that he’d even  _ gone  _ to the Demon’s Falls.

Odin didn’t. “Did you think I would wish to miss celebrating such an important milestone of your life with you? ‘Tis an occasion for the ages! I scarcely ate nor slept on the return journey, enclosed by the dark cave walls which threatened to challenge my very sanity, but  _ nay!  _ Odin Dark refused to succumb! For I could not—”

“Dark cave walls?” Leo interjected. “What are you—you traveled by ferry, no?”

“On the way there,” Odin said, cocking his head slightly. “I took the tunnel on the way back. It was much more efficient. You should have mentioned it to me before my departure—I would have had your sacred curio in your hand even sooner!”

Leo blinked. “...What tunnel?” he asked.

Odin’s expression grew even more puzzled. “The tunnel which originates at the Demon’s Falls and leads thusly straight back to Windmire?”

Leo composed his face into neutrality once more. “Of course. That tunnel. You’ll forgive how it slipped my mind, Odin.”

“Of course, milord! There is naught to forgive.” Odin nodded sagely, which displaced a particularly large clump of dried mud in his hair. Leo’s gaze followed its unceremonious fall to the floor.

Another knock came, this one far more polite, and Niles opened the door once more. “Lord Leo? Lord Xander told me to send for you,” Laslow said, his face appearing in the gap. “Hey Odin,” he added.

“Hail, Laslow of the Azure Skies!” Odin replied with a cheery wave.

“Thank you, Laslow,” Leo said. “You’re dismissed.”

Odin perked up, turning back to Leo once more. “What is the plan then, my dark liege? Where do you require me for this magnificent event?”

“Your room,” Leo said immediately, then resisted the urge to wince at Odin’s crestfallen expression. “I mean… You must  _ change, _ Odin, really.”

“Oh,” said Odin, then absently lifted his arm to sniff at his sleeve. “I suppose so.”

Leo closed his eyes briefly, then said, “Come in by the servant’s entrance to the ballroom when you’re presentable.”

“Very well, milord! Truly, the court shall be dazzled by Odin Dark’s belated arrival—though not as dazzled as they should be by you of course, milord, the great hero of the hour himself—”

Odin continued as he went, the words drifting over his shoulder until the door closed them out.

A long moment passed.

Niles  _ burst  _ out with laughter, faintly wheezing as he leaned back against the door and sank to the floor. When he finally quieted, he wiped the heel of his palm against his good eye, shaking his head and his shoulder still faintly trembling. “That was the  _ funniest  _ thing I’ve seen all year.”

“Whose side are you on?” Leo demanded, crossing his arms.

Niles’s eyes went wide with innocence. “Why,  _ yours  _ of course, milord! I have none but your best interests in mind.”

“Liar,” Leo grumbled. “More like you have none but your best entertainment options in mind.”

Niles held his arms out, palms up, and shrugged. “Ah, guilty as charged, milord. Go on, then. Punish me. We both know how terribly I deserve it.”

“We hardly have time,” Leo said, absently hefting the ‘lodestone’ still in his palm before setting it on his desk. “And when we  _ do  _ have time… Have Odin show you the tunnel he mentioned. I know nothing about it.”

Niles nodded, then smirked once more. “Are you sure you really want to let me off so lightly, milord? I could grovel some more, if you’d like—”

“Niles, come on!”

~~~

**The Mila Tree—May 17, 1019**

“And then the wyvern yawned  _ real big  _ and I saw all her teeth which was kinda scary but Mama said I didn’t need to be scared ‘cause she wouldn’t hurt me and it would be okay—are you listening, Uncle Kruger?”

“Yes, Winn. I’m listening.”

The boy didn’t seem convinced, judging by the way he fell silent after a soft “Hmph.” His ancient and world-weary pony didn’t seem to care much, though, and plodded onward relentlessly.

Meanwhile, Kruger—former Lieutenant-General of the Valmese army, current Earl of Baskin, Valm, and Secretary of State to the Emperor of Valm—narrowed his eyes against the sunset filtering through the boughs of the Mila Tree. He never cared to visit the place, not after facing off with the Ylissean League five years ago under the command of the late General Cervantes, but it was still the quickest path from Valm to Rosanne. Not that the destination itself was any joy to him—he found dealing with Duke Virion only marginally less unpleasant than encounters with the southern Queen Say’ri and Prince Inigo; mainly, the reduced travel time helped Rosanne’s case, as did the fact that Duchess Cherche was rather more reasonable to deal with than her husband.

Still, something in the air felt off in a way that didn’t seem to do with the unpleasant memories of war and death. Kruger pulled up short, followed by his honor guard and belatedly by his young nephew.

“Something the matter, milord?”

Kruger paused, taking a deep lungful of air. “Do you smell that?” he asked. “I smell something… rancid.” He would have been less concerned if he could place it—if it smelled like a dead animal or even a human corpse, but the stench assaulting him was more like bad, stagnant water than anything else. The streams which wound around the Mila Tree were  _ running  _ water, though, and even if some isolated pond had formed it shouldn’t have assaulted his nose like it did.

Not to mention the silence—the eerie, uneasy silence that had proceeded every battle in Kruger’s life.

No sooner did that thought occur than an arrow whizzed past his ear, missing him by inches.

_ “Ambush!”  _ Kruger shouted, brandishing his lance. “Defensive formation! Winn, get down!”

Winn answered with a short shriek that was hastily drowned out by the clash of drawn weapons—Kruger’s head whipped around, seeking out their foes in vain when the faintest shimmer caught his eye.

The shimmer bore an axe.

_ Gods,  _ were they  _ invisible? _

With another shout, Kruger charged—his enemy, scarcely prepared, blew apart with a burst of water. Kruger swiped at his eyes to clear them, swinging his horse around to the next.

He ought to have been thoroughly soaked by the time the battle ended, but the water faded from his clothes with the same eerie suddenness of their foes’ appearance. “Is anyone hurt?” Kruger shouted as his men began to slowly still. “Winn? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” his nephew called, crawling out from under his stoic pony. Kruger bit back a laugh of relief—he’d already lost his brother to the curse of war, and he’d be damned before Winn went the same way as his father.

“Come here,” he said, swinging from his horse. Content that Winn was still in one piece, he turned his gaze to his men. “We make for Rosanne at double-time,” he all but spat. “I know not what new trickery these creatures are, but so help me if I don’t find out.”

**End of Part 1**


	17. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Laslow, Odin, and Selena make their first visit to the Northern Fortress.

_Pouring the fuel, fanning the flames, breaking the habit and melting the chains, embracing the fear, chasing the fight, the crawl of the fire will light up the night, the bridges are burning, the heat’s on my face, making the past an unreachable place, I know this is the point of no return..._

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—July 1, 635**

For the first time, Laslow heard, the stables of the Northern Fortress were filled to overflowing—it was rare for the royal siblings to bring a full complement of retainers, and one of the unused outbuildings had been hastily converted into the required extra stalls for their mounts.

Laslow had been lucky enough for Scottie to end up in the main barn, though, and he’d hardly loosened his girth when the sound of running feet reached him.

 _“LEO!”_ came an unmitigated cry, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a second prince’s squeak. When Laslow glanced out of the stall, Leo had a blur of _white_ hanging off his neck and a face of truly brilliant red.

“C-Corrin—need to _breathe—”_ he got out.

The white blur—presumably Lady Corrin—finally pulled away, propping her hands on her hips. She still had her back to Laslow. “Gosh, you are just so adamant about that breathing thing, aren’t you?”

“Well excuse me for being so attached to the biological processes of _being alive,”_ Leo grumbled in return.

Laslow hastily muffled a snort in his sleeve. _These two speak my language,_ he thought. _Pity Lord Xander doesn’t learn from them._

“You’re excused,” Corrin told Leo primly, letting out a slight giggle as he rolled his eyes. “It _is_ your birthday. Ish.”

“Yes, the great holiday of ‘Leo’s birthday-ish,’ celebrated throughout the land of Nohr, the most lauded national festivity—”

“You _wish,”_ Elise interjected, poking her head out of her horse’s stall and sticking her tongue out in Leo’s direction. “Or maybe you don’t, considering how _grumpy_ you were all night.”

“I wasn’t _grumpy,”_ Leo protested.

“You were a little grumpy, dear,” Camilla told him.

He shot her a sullen look. “You would be grumpy too, if you spent the entire night being _relentlessly accosted_ by every noble in the building.”

“So you’re admitting you were grumpy?” Elise asked.

Laslow chuckled lightly to himself once again—he’d never heard the royal family banter like that in Krakenburg, and something about it _humanized_ them in a way he hadn’t quite seen before.

“Oh!” came a sudden voice, closer than the rest, just as Laslow had bent down to pick out Scottie’s feet. “You must be one of the new retainers! My siblings wrote about you.”

Laslow hurriedly straightened, then had to muffle a squeak as he came face-to-face with Corrin— _very_ face-to-face, as she was leaning over the window of Scottie’s stall and hardly a few inches away from him. He hurriedly stepped back, hoping it looked more like he was rebalancing than trying to regain his personal space, and plastered on a grin.

“Lady Corrin, I presume,” he said lightly. She nodded, her white-silver hair fluttering around her face. Quite a pretty face, really, if awfully pale; although—seven hells, he’d never seen eyes that shade of red in his life. “The name’s Laslow,” he continued smoothly. “And the pleasure of our meeting was very much mine.” He winked, then belatedly winced as he looked up to see both Xander and Leo shooting him the exact same look of displeasure—and Camilla, as well, he realized. _Oops._

“Actually, Corrin,” Xander said, leaving Laslow to breathe a sigh of relief as the prince’s gaze turned off him. “I wish you to do some training with Laslow while he’s here.”

“You do?” Corrin asked, her eyes going wide while Laslow silently echoed the sentiment.

“You’ll find his style of swordplay differs quite greatly from mine or Gunter’s,” Xander continued. “It should prove quite a valuable experience for you.”

“Okay, neat!” Corrin said, turning back to Laslow with a grin. “Sounds like fun!”

Laslow hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, I’m game,” he said, even as he thought that some warning would’ve been nice, _Xander._

Corrin’s attention turned back to her siblings as the company continued to settle their horses in. Laslow only listened with half an ear, but the difference in the air he’d noted was palpable. The ease, the camaraderie, the light _bickering—_ for the first time that he’d seen, the royals were acting like a _family_ rather than a stiff group of associates. Even Xander cracked half a smile at the antics of the three youngest.

Was it Corrin’s influence, he wondered, or merely the lack of Garon’s?

As the last chores finished, the stable door opened once more to reveal the last three of the company—Odin, Selena, and Silas—alongside a man with a silver ponytail Laslow had to guess worked in the Fortress. “Milords and miladys,” he said with a short bow.

“Hello, Jakob,” Camilla said.

Corrin, meanwhile, lit up once more. “Silas! Hey!”

“Hey, Lady Corrin,” Silas returned with a matching grin.

“Ah!” Odin interjected before anyone else could speak. “The great silver lady blesses us with her presence! Truly the world knows none beside—” Surreptitiously, Selena pinched him, or at least it would have been surreptitious if he hadn’t immediately broken off with a _“Hey!”_

“Um…” Corrin said, her face scrunching together. “Hi?”

From the corner of his eye, Laslow watched Leo plaster a hand to his face.

“Why, Lady Corrin,” Laslow drawled. “Meet my cousin Odin.”

A beat passed. “Odin is your cousin?” Leo asked with a raise of his brow.

Laslow shot him a grin. “Better yet, Lord Leo, Odin is _the_ cousin.”

“Ah,” said Leo. “Now that explains a lot.”

“I trust you have been telling my dark liege tales of my great heroism, Laslow,” Odin said.

Laslow’s grin gained a wicked edge. “Oh, of course, my friend. Absolutely nothing less.”

“That is a very suspicious statement,” said Odin.

Corrin let out a soft giggle and shook her head. Then, at some unspoken signal, the royal family moved as one toward the exit.

~~~

If there was one thing Laslow had to give Corrin credit for, it was that she didn’t _fight_ like a sickly girl who had spent her life locked in a tower.

Xander’s instruction was plain in her style; she had the same rock-steady defense and wide, sweeping strokes. She was much easier to goad, though—not quite quick enough to catch where Laslow was leading her until he was deep enough in for a disarm or at least a solid knock. Xander had told him not to go easy, and he didn’t. Oddly enough, Corrin seemed to appreciate it.

“You’re very…” Corrin got out, swiping back a lock of hair that had escaped from her braid as she caught her breath. “...very quick, Laslow.”

“So I’ve been told,” Laslow said, lowering his wooden sword.

“Sorry I wasn’t much of an opponent,” she offered sheepishly.

“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Laslow told her. “You’ve got all the skill. It’s simply a matter of putting it together.”

Corrin smiled at that, genuinely, and Laslow had to fight to keep himself by being unnerved again by the odd shade of her eyes. Odd, he thought, just how little she resembled her siblings. “Well, thanks,” she said. “I learned a lot.”

“Glad to hear it, Lady Corrin. You ought to try Selena sometime. She won’t be as nice about it as I am.” He held out a hand for her practice sword as well, which she relinquished, then turned back to their makeshift audience.

Xander had been there from the beginning, of course, observing and coaching. Leo, too, had stayed the whole time, sitting cross-legged on the flagstones with a particularly thick novel, although he had been peering over the pages at the fight every time Laslow had gotten a glimpse of him. Camilla and Elise had joined at some later point.

On impulse, Laslow raised the second sword and called, “You know, Lord Leo, I’m ready anytime you want to jump in for a round.”

Leo looked up, his expression half startled and half disgruntled, then let out a snort. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’m happy to leave the pointy metal sticks for the rest of you.”

“Technically these are pointy _wooden_ sticks,” Corrin said, sticking out her tongue. Then, aside to Laslow, “Leo used to train with the sword, you know. He doesn’t like it.”

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ it,” Leo protested. “It’s that mages are more valuable in their rarity than sword fighters and it’s a better use of assets.”

A beat passed before Corrin told Laslow, “He doesn’t like it. It makes his arms hurt.”

Leo sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Now, actually,” Camilla interjected, “if I remember correctly, Leo gave up on the sword when he learned I had no intention of inheriting Brynhildr.” Leo shot her a look; she winked and continued, “Xander already had Siegfried, after all, but the other divine weapon was still open.”

 _Divine weapon?_ Laslow though, struggling to keep his face neutral. _Didn’t Anankos say—_

“Strategic assets, like I said,” Leo interjected. “No sense leaving Brynhildr on the shelf for another generation when there’s someone around with the talent to use it.”

Camilla chuckled at that while Laslow’s eyes narrowed in thought.

“I’ll spar with you, Laslow!” Elise cried, hopping to her feet.

The two eldest siblings shot her the same slightly troubled look. “Now, Elise—” Xander began.

“Oh, c’mon, Xander, it’s not like _you’ve_ ever taught me,” Elise pointed out.

The crown prince hesitated. “You’ve never shown an interest,” he said slowly. “If you had, then I would…”

“How am I gonna know if I’m interested if I don’t try?” Elise asked, crossing her arms and jutting out her chin.

Camilla chuckled. “She has a point, Xander.”

“I haven’t got a problem with it,” Laslow interjected when Xander still paused.

“...All right,” the eldest said grudgingly.

“Yay!” Elise said, skipping out to Laslow. She struck a comical pose as soon as he passed over the practice sword, swinging wildly at the air. “Ha! Hya!”

Laslow gave her an indulgent smile, then shook his head. “Not quite,” he said, then held out his own sword. “Hold it like this. It’ll balance better. And your feet like this. Did you see all that fancy footwork I was doing earlier? It’s fun, and it looks pretty cool, but I always come back to here, because when I’m here I’m very hard to knock over.”

“Which would be bad,” Elise said, taking in his advice with wide eyes.

“Which would be very bad,” Laslow agreed with a grin.

Their little session only lasted about fifteen minutes—Elise picked up on things quickly, but she was panting by the end of it. “Maybe I’m not… cut out to be a swordswoman,” she said, planting the tip of her sword on the ground and leaning against it.

“That’s okay,” Laslow told her. “Not everyone is.”

She sighed, passing the sword back as she trudged over to the others. “At least I can do a little magic.”

“Can you? That’s pretty neat. I’m completely rubbish at magic,” Laslow said. Then, without consciously deciding to say it, he continued. “My mother wasn’t. But, well, she didn’t really have typical magic either.”

Several interested looks turned his way at that comment and Laslow had to fight the urge to blush. “What do you mean?” Elise asked.

Laslow paused, then admitted, “My mother was a dancer. She learned how to channel it to bring strength to her allies. Even on the most hopeless battlefield… just watching her would give you the will to continue. It was… quite incredible.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Leo said. “Though every account I’ve studied associates it more with song than dance.”

Laslow shrugged. “She’s the only one I’ve ever known, so I couldn’t tell you.” A short pang went through him, another bitter regret that his life had gone down a path that precluded him from learning it himself.

A distant rumble of thunder sounded. Camilla looked toward the horizon, then said, “Come, now, let’s go in. No sense staying out here.”

Laslow lingered a moment longer than the rest, thinking of _home_ until the first drops of rain fell to the flagstones.

~~~

“...and then he shows up, _covered in dirt,_ fifteen minutes before my entrance, and tells me he found _an imaginary_ lodestone imbued in the essence of _whatever,”_ Leo continued dramatically, arms crossed as he stared at the ceiling of the library.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Corrin said as Elise braided back the last few strands of the elder sister’s till-damp hair. Xander and Camilla had gone off to their rooms for the last few hours before supper, leaving the three youngest siblings to their own devices.

“It’s pretty _annoying_ is what it is,” Leo shot back.

“You’re annoying,” Elise told him, rolling her eyes.

“Is that the only comeback you know how to make?” Leo asked. “You ought to learn some better insults.”

“Meaniehead,” she told him.

“Nope, I’m not impressed.”

“Crankypants.”

“Keep trying, Elise, I’m here all day.”

“Oh, both of you stop it,” Corrin said, flipping back her braid and getting to her feet, only to drop down on the couch beside Leo. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on Odin?”

Leo lifted his chin, managing to be dramatic with the mere gesture of crossing his legs and replying, “I think you’re not being a _supportive sister.”_

“Hey, I’m not the one calling you a meaniehead,” Corrin pointed out. “Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

With a thoughtful pause, Leo said, “Benefit given, the doubt is still mine.”

“That’s not how it works,” Elise said, flopping onto the couch at Leo’s other side. Then, belatedly, she added, “Smelly jerk.”

“No, I don’t think that one works, Leo’s the vainest of all of us,” Corrin said thoughtfully.

“Sorry, did you forget we share blood with Camilla?” Leo asked.

“Yeah, but you take just as long to get ready as she does and you have much less hair,” Corrin pointed out. “Ergo, you are vainer than the rest of us.”

“Anyways,” Leo said, “you’re oversimplifying a very complex situation with regards to Odin.”

“Everything with you somehow turns into a complex situation,” Corrin pointed out.

“I’m very talented. Also, is there any specific reason you have both deemed me a particularly suitable piece of upholstery on which to drape yourselves?” Leo pointedly shifted, making it clear he didn’t have much room to do so.

“‘Cause you’re on the best part of the couch, dummy,” Corrin said, resting her chin on his shoulder. Leo flushed, his mouth falling slightly open before he faced pointedly forward.

“Well,” Elise said from the other side, “I think Odin’s funny and Leo is just being a _big grouchypants.”_

“If the trousers are truly so terrible, my liege, I would be most pleased to help you rid yourself of the offensive articles,” Niles drawled from the suddenly open doorway.

Leo flushed even brighter, though his tone was remarkably steady when he answered. “One word, Niles. Windows.” Niles only grinned at that. “And you’ve already used - _pants_ in an insult, Elise, you’re losing what little credibility you have.”

“While the commentary on milord’s clothes is proving truly delightful, I did come to inform you that dinner is about ten minutes out,” Niles said.

“Thank you, Niles.”

 _“So!”_ Corrin interjected before the retainer could leave at Leo’s dismissal. “What do _you_ think of Odin, Niles?”

Niles raised his brow. “Do I have to answer that with Lord Leo in the room?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Considering he nearly cracked a rib from laughing so hard, I would assume he at least finds his fellow retainer amusing… Even if it’s at the expense of his liege’s sanity.”

“Yes, the poor delicate flower of your sanity, so quickly pierced by Odin’s unceremonious entrance—”

_“Niles.”_

“Milord?”

“Geez, you two fight like an old married couple,” Elise said. “Give it up, would you? I’m starving.” She jumped to her feet, making her way to the door; Niles waved her through, then waved again at Leo and Corrin before turning away himself.

“Hey,” Corrin said when a long moment passed in silence. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Leo said quickly. Then, sighing, he added, “Just a bit resentful of her phrasing.”

Corrin rolled her eyes, sitting upright to aim a light punch at his shoulder. “C’mon, you know she was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Obviously,” said Leo.

When he didn’t say anything else, Corrin shrugged and got to her feet. “Well, come on, then. Let’s not keep them waiting for the guest of honor.”

“If I ever get married,” Leo said suddenly, “let it be known I am an unwilling participant.”

Corrin glanced back, half-expecting a punchline only to find her younger brother’s face deathly serious. She let out a high, strained chuckle. “C’mon, Leo,” she said. “You don’t think Father’s going to immediately throw you at someone now that you’re an adult, do you? You have three older siblings and none of _us_ are married, you may remember.”

“Father arranged a match for Camilla less than a month after she turned eighteen,” Leo pointed out.

“Yeah, and then he died, and nothing ever came of it.”

“Because Camilla had him _killed,_ Corrin.”

Corrin flinched. “Leo, don’t—”

“Because that’s the only sort of powerplay Father ever respects,” Leo said. “I mean, gods know that disgusting excuse for a man deserved it, I don’t blame her for a moment, I was halfway to doing it myself—” He broke off. “It’s merely… all this business with the retainers, how they’ve been foisted on us with hardly any input… it doesn’t bode well for our autonomy.”

“...Leo,” Corrin said again, only for the words to die on her throat.

After a moment, Leo shook his head, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I suppose my thoughts have been rather ghastly of late.” His lips quirked slightly.

“Hey,” she said. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You’d be a catch, Leo.”

He turned faintly pink at that, then shook his head. “Unlikely on both fronts, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. Before she could answer, he got to his feet. “You’re right. We should go.”

Corrin stared after him for a moment, then shook her head. _Sometimes I have no idea what’s going on in that big brain of his,_ she thought as she followed.

~~~

Laslow had rather hoped his so-called house arrest would have been at least slightly lifted in the Northern Fortress, but no such luck had been granted to him. Barring his training with Corrin and dinner—which the retainers took with the servants of the Fortress, separate from the royals—he’d spent the day in Xander’s room.

It had been quite boring.

Still, his liege had _finally_ released him, which meant that despite the lateness of the hour he’d immediately stolen away with Odin and Selena, taking up vigil on one of the grand towers of the Northern Fortress.

“There is something _seriously_ weird going on here,” he said the moment they were high enough up he thought he could speak freely.

“Yeah,” said Selena. “And they’re all so— _used_ to it. It’s _normal.”_

“If she’s so sick, then why would they keep her _here?”_ Laslow continued immediately. “Sure, it’s isolated. From _everything._ They don’t even have a proper physician on staff!”

“Didn’t Flora say she was a healer?” Odin asked.

“As far as I understand, Flora’s a maid who happens to know how to use a stave,” Laslow replied. “That hardly counts.” He reached the top of the staircase and spun around, stepping backward onto the roof and repeating, “This doesn’t make _sense.”_

Odin’s lips pulled into a frown, his thoughtful “Hmm,” causing Laslow to pause his restless pacing.

“Odin?”

“...What is the extent of the knowledge you two have gained on Nohr’s queen?” Odin asked.

“Well, they haven’t got one,” Selena said, rolling her eyes. “Unless His Majesty has her locked up barefoot and pregnant somewhere, which I don’t think I’d put past him, really, but yeah, I think we’d have heard about that by now.”

“Yeah, there’s no queen. And Lord Xander’s never mentioned her to me at all,” Laslow added. “Why?”

“Surely I’m not the only one who’s noticed the similarities in appearance between our three lieges and their youngest sibling,” Odin said. “They’re as close as you and Lucina are, Laslow.” He paused. “Lady Corrin does _not_ share such similarities.”

“What, you think he’s got her locked up here ‘cause she’s a bastard?” Selena asked. “Again, wouldn’t put it past him, but…”

“Yeah, but it makes sense,” Laslow put in. “It was the first thing I noticed, I think.” He shook his head. “But in that case, why make her presence known at all? Why would the other siblings know about her—and us by extension? That just seems like it’d make someone more likely to blab.”

After a long moment, Selena sighed and shook her head. “All this crappy intrigue and we’re not even any closer to what we’re actually here to _do.”_

“Actually,” Laslow said, “we might be one step closer—albeit one very tiny step.” At their inquiring looks, he continued, “Lady Camilla mentioned something earlier about the divine weapons we’re supposed to be looking for. At least I _hope_ they’re the same divine weapons.”

“What about them? Stop being dramatic,” Selena snapped.

“I’m not being dramatic,” Laslow protested.

“You’re pausing dramatically!”

“Am not!”

“Just tell us!”

“I’m trying!” Laslow took a step back, hands raised. “Siegfried and Brynhildr!”

A beat passed. “Siegfried and Brynhildr,” Selena repeated, then sighed again. “All right, that’s two out of five, at least. Guess that means we’ll need to get Lord Xander and Lord Leo in on the whole deal eventually. Great. Not.”

“Hey, I would find my dark liege a great and strategic asset in the battles to come,” Odin protested.

“Speak for yourself,” Laslow said, rolling his eyes. “Still, we should keep that under wraps for a while. It’s not like they trust us as far as they can throw us yet—I doubt they’ll be keen on fighting an enemy we can’t even properly tell them about.”

“Plus we still kind of need to find Kamui,” Selena pointed out.

“Yeah. That too,” said Laslow.

“Every day in this land brings more questions than answers,” Odin said with a frown.

“You can say that again,” Selena grumbled. “Whatever. I don’t want to be out here too late. Lady Camilla has a bunch of mending and stuff she wants me to do while we’re here.”

“Indeed. Lord Leo has asked me to deep-clean all his tack tomorrow,” said Odin.

“Well, Lord Xander’s _grounded_ me,” Laslow said with mock cheer, “so I think I’ll stay out here while I still can.”

“We’re not covering your ass if he catches you out here,” Selena warned.

Laslow shrugged. “Wouldn’t expect you to. Night, you two.”

Odin gave a mocking bow, while Selena answered with a rude gesture Laslow assumed was to be her version of a farewell. He shook his head and watched them descend, then spun on his heel and resumed his circuit of the rooftop once he could see them no more.

He’d made about ten laps before he moved to shuck his gloves without making the conscious decision to do so. He went so far as to throw them down in the corner by the staircase before he fully realized just what he’d done and the thought pulled him up short.

He could probably afford to _not_ wear gloves constantly sooner than he’d thought, he realized with a pang. His hands hadn’t seen a ray of sunshine since he’d been in Nohr, leaving them the same even shade of white. With the tan line gone, all that remained to show for three years of wearing a wedding ring was a faint and surely fading indent on his finger—and soon enough that, too, would be gone.

“Sorry, my love,” Laslow couldn’t help but whisper to the empty air, touching a hand to where the ring now hung at his throat, buried under layers of cloth. There, at least, he could explain it away as a family memento if it was ever spotted, no matter how much the thought pained him.

He forced that thought down, hurriedly yanking off the thick, studded top layer of his uniform, leaving him in just a plain undershirt. The former, too, was thrown down by the gloves, the night air faintly chilling him in its absence.

Laslow hadn’t _danced_ since he’d been in Nohr, either.

The thought nearly overwhelmed him, leaving his feet itching and his limbs aching. It hadn’t been a conscious decision—he’d simply been too overwhelmed and strapped for time, first by the Diabolan Faceless and then by his excruciating duties to Xander. Then he’d had to go and mention Olivia, of course, and now that he thought of the conversation again the mere fact that he _wasn’t dancing_ was agony. He had to force himself to sit and pry off his too-restrictive boots and the socks that would surely be ruined by the uneven flagstones, and once he’d managed that he simply couldn’t _not_ leap back to his feet.

Laslow had to force himself through a very quick stretching routine—quicker than was prudent, really, and he could all but hear his mother chiding him—and _surely_ that was enough, _surely_ he could spin and twirl and watch the world blur in his vision and feel his limbs twist and bend and hold him and _energy strength fire in his veins POWER—_

Laslow stopped so quickly he stumbled, a sharp gasp ripping from his throat. It took him a moment to release the air once more in a heaving pant, his heart pounding in his ears and his eyes suddenly unfocused on the middle distance.

_That was—_

_But it wasn’t—it couldn’t be—_

He forced himself to breathe in again, to steel himself and step, step, arms out, pivot _there it was again strength and fire and energy all his rising up from the tip of his toes and washing over him, drowning him—_

This time Laslow staggered forward, only catching himself on the roof’s railing, the world so blurred he was afraid for a moment he would go tumbling straight over to meet his end on the stones below. He finally managed to twist himself into an ungainly slide to the ground, already soaked with sweat despite the night’s chill, some unheard haunting melody ringing for a brief moment between his ears.

He could identify it after the second time. It was the same wild, manic strength that had fallen over him in every battle since the Mila Tree—but twice as strong, thrice, four times; not just a boost but utter, overwhelming _power._ He’d assumed it was just more of the same—just like his missing scars and the better senses. But he’d never mentioned it to Odin or Selena, now that he thought of it—he’d assumed they felt the same, of course, but neither of _them_ had said anything about it either.

Was it just him?

And if it was, then— _of course_ it would come out when he battled, he always had fought like he danced; the two had been interminably linked since the first day he’d picked up a sword.

That could only mean—

Laslow let out a gasping laugh, still shivering, wondering if the sob about to escape him was from joy or hysteria.

Anankos had given him _dancer magic._


	18. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are now two cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard from one of my readers that the notification email came through quite delayed on the last chapter from AO3's maintenance, so make sure you didn't miss it!

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—July 4, 635**

Laslow’s days fell once more into an unfortunate routine.

He’d overslept the night after his newfound discovery, which probably would have been even more unpleasant than it already was if they hadn’t been in the Northern Fortress. He hadn’t been able to help it—whether it was the kickback from the magic itself that had exhausted him or whether he’d simply stayed up too late toying with it, he didn’t know. He supposed the cause didn’t matter too much when the effect was getting reamed out by Xander.

Either way, it surely hadn’t helped shorten his house arrest. Laslow had collapsed into bed when they arrived back at Krakenburg that night, and he’d spent practically every waking moment since in Xander’s chambers.

“...So _that’s_ why we should hold hands often,” Elise was saying, hands on her hips as she stood in front of Xander’s desk. “For bonding and stuff.”

“Hold hands?” Xander asked, quirking a brow. “Are you sure you read that correctly?”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my book,” Elise said with a pout.

“I’m not, I assure you,” said Xander. “It just sounds… strange.”

“I know, it’s not one of your fancy military or history books or anything,” Elise said. “But I agree with what it says! Kindness and compassion are super important for achieving peace!”

“I see,” Xander said. “Well, they are points worth keeping in mind, at least.”

“Exactly!” said Elise. “Oh, I gotta go! I have a lesson! Bye, Xander!” With that, she bent down and kissed her elder brother’s cheek, then darted from the room.

A beat passed after the door closed before Xander sighed and turned back to his paperwork. “Siblings,” he said under his breath.

“I wouldn’t know, milord,” Laslow piped up from his spot in the corner, despite the fact he wasn’t sure he was supposed to have heard that remark. “I’m afraid I _am_ the annoying younger sibling.”

Xander glanced up again. “You have siblings, Laslow?”

Laslow shrugged. “Just the one.” Gods, wouldn’t Lucina be saying ‘I told you so’ about the whole Nohr business… “My sister.”

A long silence stretched out while Laslow began to work out a knot that had suddenly appeared in his thread.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” he added a moment later. “About kindness and compassion.”

Xander sighed once more. “I am not surprised you ascribe to such ideology,” he said. “And would that I could find a way to bring more of such things to the world… But holding hands is hardly the way to solve Nohr’s problems. Force must be met with force. That is the immutable law of the world.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _immutable,”_ Laslow replied. “Some enemies cannot be reasoned with, sure. But some can.”

“And sometimes that reasoning merely shows a weakness which will quickly be exploited by someone else.”

Laslow glanced up, fixing his liege with a heavy stare. “Mercy isn’t a weakness.”

Such a long moment passed without an answer Laslow thought maybe he’d actually gotten Xander to _think._ Instead, though, the crown prince finally said, “Staring at me like that will not give me cause to release you any sooner.”

Laslow sighed. “Is this really all you’re going to allow me to do all day again? Sit here cross-legged on your floor while you go about your business?”

“It is. And you know whose fault that is. As long as you remain in my sight, I know you are not bothering the people of Windmire.”

“But I’ll get rusty!” Laslow protested. “At least let me go out and get some training done.”

“Not a chance. You are remarkably easy to read, Laslow. The second you’re out of my sight, you’ll make a beeline into town, likely to harass yet another poor young woman.”

Laslow had to bury a snort at the ‘easy to read’ line. _Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, milord._ He shifted, setting aside the project in his lap to pull his knees up to his chin. “So!” he said brightly. “You don’t have a birthmark on your eye or anywhere, do you?”

“What?” Xander asked, turning once more to face Laslow. “A birthmark?”

“Yes. Like a crest or something. Maybe one symbolizing the Nohrian royal lineage. Just curious.”

“What are you talking about?” Xander asked, sounding baffled. “How would I even see with a mark on my eye?”

“Why does everyone always ask that?” Laslow asked, then hurriedly added, “Er… Someone… with such a birthmark… would probably say.” He cleared his throat. “I ask because the royal family of my homeland had them. I wanted to know if it was the same here.”

“Oh?” Xander asked. “Is something on your mind? First you speak of your sister, and now your homeland… it seems I’ve caught you in a rare mood indeed.”

“Rare?” Laslow asked, then shrugged. Internally, though, he kicked himself—his boredom was getting the better of his discretion. “Well, if you’d like to know anything about it, I’d be happy to tell you. Although my boss is keeping me busy these days, so I’m a smidge pressed for time.”

Xander arched a brow. “Was that sarcasm? With me? I admire your bravery.”

“Of course not, milord,” Laslow quickly replied. “I wouldn’t dare.”

With a shake of his head, Xander resumed his current task. Laslow did the same.

“Just what is it you’re working on over there?” Xander asked several minutes later, when Laslow let out an exasperated sigh and yanked out his last several stitches. “I don’t remember asking you to mend anything for me.”

“Ah, well—technically no, milord. I hope you don’t mind me attempting to get in a semblance of productivity.” He held up Soleil’s kitten, having to awkwardly hold the half-reattached head to keep it from pulling further on the stitches. “It’s for one of the girls in the servants’ creche.”

To Laslow’s surprise, a hundred unreadable expressions crossed Xander’s face. Shock, pity… grief? Before Laslow could analyze him any further, the crown prince schooled his features once more into neutrality. “How magnanimous of you, Laslow,” he said, with almost the faintest hint of something choked in his words. “I didn’t realize you had taken such an interest in the children.”

“Ah, well, it was a bit of an accident, really. I only went to visit Odin’s daughter,” Laslow explained. “Didn’t feel quite right to leave poor Lady Whiskers here in the trash, though.”

Another long pause dragged out. “Of course,” said Xander. “Quite understandable.” Without another word, the crown prince got to his feet, striding into a deeper part of his chamber. Laslow watched him go for a moment, then shrugged and picked up his needle again.

Xander returned only a moment later, stopping not at his desk but continuing until all six-foot-five of him loomed over Laslow. Laslow himself had to blink, though, at what his liege extended toward him.

It was another stuffed kitten—similar in shape and size to the first, though this one was pink rather than black, clearly brand new and made of a much finer and more expensive material than the well-loved Lady Whiskers. A lovely toy, really, but why in gods’ names would Xander…?

“Milord?” Laslow finally ventured.

“Tell the young Miss Soleil,” Xander said, “that her stuffed companion brought her another friend.”

“...Milord?” Laslow asked again, taking the pink cat from Xander’s hand.

“And let me know when you’ve finished your repairs,” Xander continued, turning away from Laslow and heading back to his desk. “I will grant you leave to bestow them.”

 _“Milord,”_ Laslow said a third time, a hint of irritation coming through in his tone.

Xander paused, still with his back to Laslow. “Yes, Laslow?”

It took a long moment for Laslow to find his words. “I never told you her name was Soleil,” he finally whispered.

A beat passed. “Of course you did, Laslow,” Xander said. “Only a moment ago.”

Laslow frowned as he played back their conversation—no, he was fairly certain he _hadn’t—_ but Xander’s words clearly booked no room for argument. When the prince sat again at his desk, as well, he deliberately turned his chair to face away from Laslow.

The conversation would not be continued.

Laslow shook his head, a sharp exhale filled with puzzlement and exasperation alike escaping him as he set aside the second kitten.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—July 6, 635**

“This feels weird,” Laslow complained as they strode the darkened hallways of Krakenburg. “Is this being weird?”

“My friend, having known you for our entire existence, I’m quite certain you are incapable of _not_ being weird,” Odin pointed out.

Laslow elbowed him. “Rude hypocrite.”

“Perhaps you should look in the mirror, dear cousin, considering such a statement was rather impolite itself and your accusation of hypocrisy is quickly reflecting back on you—”

“Shut it,” Laslow said, a touch more anxiety leaking into his tone than he’d intended.

Odin sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you don’t come to visit Ophelia,” he pointed out. “How is this any different?”

“I’m _related_ to Ophelia,” Laslow said.

“You’re technically sort of on orders from Lord Xander right now, if it makes you feel better,” Odin offered.

Laslow frowned. “I mean, _technically,_ I guess…”

Odin shook his head. “Well, I know not what young Soleil’s opinion would be, but I can tell you that _my_ daughter will be deeply disappointed if you chicken out now.”

“I’m not chickening out,” Laslow protested. “It’s just… whatever, I don’t expect you to understand. You’ve never had a sense of propriety anyway.”

“Propriety?” Odin barked a laugh. “My friend, you’re currently under house arrest thanks to your lack of propriety.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Laslow grumbled. “And it was a misunderstanding anyway.”

“Mmhmm,” Odin said, his tone unconvinced.

There was a fair bit less noise than there had been during Laslow’s last visit—they had come in the quiet hour between dinner and bedtime, which not only meant that there was less activity overall but that the children had retired to their individual rooms for the night.

The peace didn’t last long, though—Ophelia had undoubtedly inherited her father’s volume. _“DADDY!”_

Odin’s face broke into a splitting grin so bright Laslow had to look away—gods, when was the last time Leo had let him off for a visit? “Hello, tiny heroine.”

Laslow shook his head, absently thinking he’d be lucky if he ended up getting another ounce of attention from either of them. Not that he blamed either of them; how odd it must have been, he thought, to have their tight-knit family of two split apart so abruptly.

Fortunately for him, though, he glanced sideways at that moment. _Oh._ He hadn’t realized Soleil was one of Ophelia’s roommates, though now that he saw the pink-haired girl he distantly remembered Ophelia saying something of the like during his last visit. Presently, Soleil was sitting halfway under her bedspread, chin resting on her knees as she picked at a loose thread on her blanket.

 _Now or never,_ Laslow thought, slightly adjusting the satchel slung over his shoulder before making his way over. “Hey,” he said gently. “Soleil, isn’t it?”

Soleil glanced up sharply, her expression full of as much suspicion as a child her age could possibly muster. A pang went through him—he’d never seen Ophelia conjure a fraction of that, but Ophelia, at least, still had one wholly devoted parent in her life. Laslow had lost both his parents at nine, and it had been horrific enough then—he couldn’t imagine having to cope with that loss at three or four.

“My name’s Laslow,” he continued, settling himself on the floor with only his elbow propped on her mattress. Best to make himself look like less of a threat. “And I’ve got something that belongs to you.”

Soleil continued to direct the same sullen glare at him. Her expression only changed—mouth falling open, eyes going wide—when he produced Lady Whiskers from his satchel.

“She had a bit of an adventure, but she’s good as new,” Laslow said, setting the toy on the bedspread. “Or, well, nearly.” It was still rather obvious where he’d reattached the head, as he’d expected, but at least the cat was back in one piece now.

Soleil gazed at him, awed, for a moment more, then snatched up Lady Whiskers and clutched the cat to her chest.

“And,” Laslow added, a slight smile coming to his face, “while she was away, she made a friend.”

The second toy made Soleil’s eyes go even wider. Then, haltingly, her voice slightly rough, she declared, _“Lord_ Whiskers.”

“Yup,” Laslow said brightly. “Lord Whiskers. How’d you know?”

Soleil gazed at Lord Whiskers for a moment more before deliberately setting both toys aside. Then, looking deadly serious, she gazed at Laslow.

He offered her a tentative grin.

Apparently she deemed that reaction suitable, because Soleil scooted forward far enough to fling her arms around Laslow’s neck and declare, without a hint of uncertainty, _“Daddy.”_

A beat passed.

“Uh,” Laslow managed, “what?”

Soleil pulled back, a light in her eyes that said she thought he was being particularly thick. “Daddy,” she repeated.

“Er, well,” Laslow said, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “I mean, that’s not—well, it isn’t entirely—” He shot a helpless glance sideways toward Odin and Ophelia—the latter was gazing at him with wide-eyed wonder and the former with bemused interest. “Uh, Soleil, I’m not—”

He broke off, though, as she continued staring at him expectantly. Seven hells, the poor thing didn’t _have_ parents, and if she was anything like Ophelia it was entirely possible she hadn’t yet grasped the permanency of that fact. Laslow was certainly not prepared to brave the potential tears that could come from explaining that fact.

So he merely fell silent and offered another stiff grin.

Soleil stared for a moment more before returning the smile. Then, she gathered her cats to her chest again and buried herself once more beneath her covers. “G’night, Daddy.”

“Uh… good night, Soleil.” Naga, and he’d thought _grown_ women were puzzling creatures—evidently, little girls were even more so.

Ophelia was still gazing at him in wonder when he wandered back over, slightly dazed. “Is _that_ how daddies are made?” she asked reverently.

Odin was still clearly trying to hide his snickering and only marginally succeeding. “Apparently so,” he answered gravely.

 _You’re not helping,_ Laslow tried to tell him.

Ophelia, meanwhile, gazed up at her father adoringly before burrowing against his chest. “I picked the _best_ daddy,” she declared.

Odin beamed. “Why thank you, tiny heroine.”

“But Soleil picked a good daddy too,” Ophelia added. “No wonder she waited so long.”

“Right,” said Laslow absently. “Waited. Sure.”

~~~

Odin, kindly enough, waited until they had left the creche before he burst into gales of laughter.

 _“Odin,”_ Laslow groaned.

His cousin, meanwhile, only continued to snicker. “Well,” he said eventually. “Welcome to fatherhood, my friend.”

“That’s not how fatherhood works,” Laslow protested.

“She seems to think so.”

“She’s, like, four! I don’t exactly trust her judgment!” Laslow flung his hands out to the sides. “Ophelia would probably go and declare one of the castle cats to be her father if you weren’t around!”

Odin’s expression flickered slightly darker at that and it took him an extra moment to answer. “I didn’t exactly hear you tell her _no,_ though.”

Laslow stopped, sighed, and leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t—I was afraid she’d start crying, and then I—” He broke off, putting his hands to his face. “I did _not_ sign up for this.”

Odin didn’t answer for a long moment; when Laslow glanced up at him again, he’d gone tense, his gaze fixed down the hallway.

“Good evening, Odin, Laslow,” Iago drawled, his cloaks billowing as he strolled toward them.

“Iago,” Laslow returned, keeping his voice level despite how the hair on the back of his neck stood up. “I wasn’t aware you’d returned from Cheve yet.”

“Only just,” Iago said. “I’m sure Prince Xander and Prince Leo will update you on the situation shortly.”

A beat passed. “So,” Laslow asked, “was Zola telling the truth?”

Iago only answered with a demure little smile. “As I said, I’ll let your lieges inform you. Good evening again, both of you.” With that, he strode past and shortly out of sight.

Odin shuddered once he was gone. “Bleh,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” said Laslow. Soleil, it seemed, might be about to be displaced as Nohr’s never-ending issues came once more to the forefront. “My sentiments exactly.”

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—July 7, 635**

“Ah! Greetings of the morning to you, good Niles! How fares you on this illustrious day?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, Odin, you?” Niles drawled, glancing up from where he was straightening Leo’s desk. “Although, I’m a bit curious you’d call me _good,_ of all things. It’s not an adjective that really works to describe me.” A smirk came to his face. “Usually I’m very, very _bad,_ actually.”

Odin blinked. “Bad at what?” he asked. “You seem quite proficient in your duties to Lord Leo. In fact, I find myself in awe of your single-minded dedication to our dark liege!”

A beat passed before Niles sighed.

“...Speaking of,” Odin continued, glancing around the room, “where _is_ Lord Leo?”

“He’s in a meeting,” Niles explained. “With His Majesty, Iago, and Lord Xander, I believe.”

“Ah,” said Odin. “Regarding Cheve?”

Niles shot him a sharp look. “And how would you know about that?”

“Laslow and I crossed paths with the dread Iago last night,” Odin explained. “He mentioned the like.”

Niles hummed. “‘The dread Iago.’ I might have to start using that. Milord isn’t very fond of him either.”

“Ha! Glad to lend my auspicious naming services to your cause, Niles!”

Niles straightened, lightly gripping the back of Leo’s desk chair, his organizing task evidently finished. “So,” he said conversationally. “How is your daughter doing, then?”

Odin felt both a flush of pride and a pang of pity go through him. “She’s well,” he said. “She’s… brilliant, even.”

“Ah,” said Niles. “Excellent. I can’t imagine how _difficult_ it must have been to make such a long move…”

 _Ah,_ Odin realized. _Niles is trying to unlock my tragic backstory again._

The door clicked open before he could answer, though, swinging wide to reveal a harried Leo. “Good morning, my dark liege!” Odin greeted brightly.

“...Good morning, Odin,” Leo said with a barely muted sigh.

“How went your meeting of the murkiest minds?” Odin continued.

Leo sighed again, crossing the room to sink into his desk chair. “There was a riot in a village just outside Macarath’s capital the night before last,” he said.

“What about?” Niles asked.

“Gods know,” Leo replied dryly. “Xander is going to investigate.”

Odin, meanwhile, tilted his head. “Macarath? That’s not in Cheve, is it?”

“No,” said Leo. “It’s the next territory to the north of Cheve.” He gave a calculating look to the mug on his desk before taking it in hand. “Why?”

“Iago said you were going to talk about Cheve,” Odin said.

“Oh, believe me, we talked about Cheve too,” Leo said, taking a tentative sip before making a displeased face. “Bah. Should’ve known.”

“Has the icy hand of time rendered unpalatable your pungent elixir to stave off the dark spirits of exhaustion?” Odin asked. Of course, Odin thought said elixir was unpalatable to begin with—Leo took his coffee straight black—but he wasn’t the one drinking it. “Please, allow me, milord!”

Leo gave him a dubious look but obligingly handed over the mug.

Odin cradled the mug, eyeing it for a moment, then waved his other hand over top with a muttered incantation. A flicker of light burst from his fingers. Then, grinning, he handed the now-steaming beverage back to his liege.

Leo’s eyes went wide. “Ah… thank you, Odin,” he said, hesitantly accepting the mug back. His voice shortly returned to its familiarly imperious tones. “Although I would appreciate it if you refrained from dabbling with fire magic in my bedchambers.”

“Oh,” said Odin, faintly disappointed. “All right, then.”

“You were saying something about Cheve, milord?” Niles interjected. “I’ve been waiting with bated breath to hear the follow-up regarding Zola.”

“Yes, well.” Leo took a much more contented sip of his coffee before setting it aside again, crossing one leg over the other and linking his hands in his lap. There was something in his posture, Odin thought—an air that spoke more clearly of royalty than any crown could. It made him think of Chrom and Lucina, of Say’ri, of the khans of Regna Ferox. And of Inigo, of course, in those rare moments when his cousin had fully embraced his Exalted title.

Leo would do great things one day, Odin thought, and hoped he would be around to see them.

“Cheve has turned into quite the interesting matter,” Leo continued. “I’m not sure how much you two have heard…?”

“Zola testified under the veritasages that he was hired by Dame Colette,” Niles answered. “And he remains in the dungeons at this very moment.”

“And Iago went to Cheve to investigate those claims, no?” Odin added.

“Correct on both counts,” said Leo. “The snare is this: Dame Colette _also_ agreed to testify to the veritasages.” He tilted his head. “And she maintains that she did _not_ hire Zola. Which means, at present, we are seemingly operating under two mutually exclusive truths which _cannot_ both be true.”

A beat passed. “So how difficult is it to fool a veritasage?” Odin asked.

“Very,” Niles said dryly. “Trust me.”

“Indeed,” said Leo. “Especially knowing the particular veritasages my father sent. He doesn’t plan on taking any chances regarding Cheve. Not after last winter.”

Odin managed to hold his tongue—barely—regarding the last comment. He’d heard whispered rumors in Diabola and Windmire alike regarding Cheve’s rebellion of six months past, though he hadn’t quite been able to put them together into a single coherent narrative yet. “What does that mean, then?”

“It means,” Leo said, rising from his chair, “that I hope you know how to pack quickly, Odin. We depart for Chevalier at noon.”


	19. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which princes journey south.

**King’s Road, south of Windmire, Nohr—July 7, 635**

“I imagine it would be most prudent for us to remain together until we make it through the Woods of the Forlorn, at the very least,” Leo said.

“Quite so,” Xander answered. “Though you could always continue on to Palace Macarath with me and spend a night there; it’s hardly out of your way.”

A beat passed before Leo shook his head. “I think not, no, unless we happen to be delayed. At this rate we’d be due there midday, and I’d prefer to be in Chevalier as quickly as possible. Perhaps on the return trip.”

“Perhaps,” Xander said, then fell silent.

From the back of their six-man formation—Niles and Silas at the front, Leo and Xander in the middle—Laslow spoke up. “So, were early Nohrian explorers just really melodramatic or something?” he asked. “I mean, ‘The Woods of the Forlorn’? Really?”

“Sounds like something you would title it, my friend, after being scorned there by some fair maiden,” Odin put in without missing a beat. Laslow shot him a dirty look and got a grin in return.

“Bold words, Odin Dark, Right Hand of All That’s Right,” Laslow said.

“Ha! It has been some time since I’ve heard that particular sobriquet, Laslow of the Azure Skies! Perhaps I should bring back an old agnomen of yours, dear cousin—or should I say, _Doomed Philanderer of Legend!”_

Laslow answered with a put upon sigh. “Oh, I thought you had grown past such childish insults.”

Odin returned in kind. “And here I thought _you_ had grown past your inability to converse with the fairer sex without the conversation ending in some form of bodily harm being bestowed upon you, but it seems we both have great depths of disappointment to plumb.”

“Why, you little—I’ll have you know I—”

“That’s enough back there, you two,” Xander cut in, twisting in Skoll’s saddle to send them a firm look. Odin had to bury a spike of offense while Laslow merely rolled his eyes and looked resigned.

“Hmph,” Odin said under his breath, dropping his reins and letting Rommie happily plod along beneath him. Catching Laslow’s eye, Odin propped his hands on his hips and lifted his chin in what he hoped came across as an accurate mimicry of Xander’s impeccably perfect posture, then mouthed _I’m the crown prince, no one shall have fun in my presence lest Nohr be shamed!_

Though Odin doubted Laslow had been able to accurately grasp every word, evidently the impression had gone over successfully, because Laslow promptly _lost it._ An unholy gale of laughter escaped his lips, far too loud to be contained by his vain attempt to muffle it in his elbow. Xander promptly whipped around again.

“Laslow,” he said, voice flat. “Come forward and trade places with Silas.”

“...Yes, milord,” Laslow answered, then directed a throat-slitting motion at Odin once his liege’s back was turned again. When Silas fell back to take his place, the young knight offered a ‘what are you going to do?’ shrug.

“Dramatic though the title may be,” Leo said a moment later, “I would hardly call the Woods of the Forlorn inaccurately named. It’s not a place I would wish to traverse alone.”

“You know,” Laslow said, “I think I’ve heard just about _everywhere_ in Nohr described as some variation of ‘not a nice place.’ I’m still trying to figure out where all your _food_ comes from.”

A beat passed. “Most of our arable land is to the southeast,” Xander said. “There are many small farming villages and the like several days south of Diabola’s borders. Macarath holds some of it, as well. In addition, we have a very favorable trade relationship with Nestra, on the southern coast. Most of the rarer indulgences we enjoy in Krakenburg—coffee, certain fruits—come from there. There is never excess food… but usually there is enough.”

“And what do you do when there isn’t?” Laslow prodded.

“Pray,” Leo said dryly.

Xander shot his younger brother a look. “Krakenburg keeps emergency rations, Laslow. You needn’t worry that a poor harvest will leave you wanting.”

Laslow didn’t answer and Odin shook his head—he was quite certain his cousin hadn’t been asking with himself in mind. Three years at the helm of Chon’sin hardly allowed for that.

Little surprise Xander couldn’t see that, though, Odin thought.

~~~

**Giant’s Pass, north of the Woods of the Forlorn, Nohr—July 8, 635**

Laslow woke with a yelp, with someone’s hand at his shoulder and some presence looming over him, and he hadn’t time to think before he swung to connect with flesh.

“Ow! Whoa! Easy there!”

_Falchion in the corner—he could just reach it—_

“Laslow! It’s okay! It’s just me! It’s Silas!”

Laslow had Falchion halfway out of its sheath before rationality kicked in to replace instinct and the words registered. He froze, already half up on his leading foot when reality pulled him back in.

A high, nervous chuckle escaped Silas. “Thought I was a goner there for a second,” he got out.

“I… Sorry,” Laslow said, then had to break off and clear his throat. He settled Falchion back in its sheath before half-falling back to his bedroll.

Silas, meanwhile, rubbed at his cheek. “Damn, you pack quite a punch,” he said ruefully. “I think I’m gonna have a black eye from that.”

“Sorry,” Laslow said again. “Um, if I might ask what on earth you were…?”

Silas gave a sheepish shrug. “You were talking in your sleep. I thought you were having a nightmare.”

“...Ah,” said Laslow. “Yeah, that’s not… uncommon. You probably don’t want to try that again, though.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna,” Silas said dryly. “You’re on your own next time.”

 _I usually am,_ Laslow thought.

The tent flap opened a moment later, revealing the first pearlescent gleam of dawn behind Xander’s head. “Everything all right?”

“We’re fine,” Silas said. “I just learned a valuable lesson called ‘don’t wake up Laslow.’”

Xander’s querying gaze fell upon Laslow. He forced a smile in return.

“Truly, everything’s fine, milord,” Laslow said. “I just had a bit of a fright. Nothing to worry about.”

“...Very well,” Xander said grudgingly, then let the tent flap fall shut once more.

Laslow resisted the urge to let out a shuddering sigh, ran a hand through his hair, then reached for his pack. No point in going back to sleep now, he thought.

“Who’s Say’ri?”

Laslow froze again.

 _Who’s Say’ri?_ he thought sardonically. _My wife, my better half, my greatest ally, queen of her country and of my heart, who somehow managed to build me back up when I was nothing but a broken mess on the ground of Valm—_

“I mean, I’m assuming it’s a who,” Silas continued. “You kept saying it in your sleep, and—”

“She’s a friend of mine,” Laslow cut in, pointedly digging through his pack to avoid making eye contact. “A very dear friend.”

“Hey, you’ve got female friends? Color me surprised,” Silas said with a grin. Then, a moment later, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“It’s fine,” Laslow said. He shrugged into his overshirt before standing and buckling Falchion to his hip. “Tell Lord Xander I’ve gone to look for firewood.”

“Er, you know Lord Leo can just _grow—”_ Silas began, then broke off. “Sure. I got you.”

“Thanks,” Laslow said.

 _Breathe,_ he told himself as he ducked behind the tents and thankfully out of sight before any of the rest of their company spotted him. They weren’t in the Woods of the Forlorn proper yet, but there were trees aplenty to shelter him from prying eyes. _Breathe, Laslow._

The sentiment didn’t help much—it was still far too early in the morning for him to feel much like Laslow at all. He forced out a sigh and set one foot in front of the other with diligence anyway—he just needed a few moments away from prying Nohrian princes and their retainers to compose himself, he thought.

 _Three months,_ a voice whispered. Three months since he’d left Dai’chi and every tie keeping him there, three months since he’d _abandoned—_

Laslow cut that thought off before it could go any further. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let that thought fester if he had any intent to cling to his sanity.

He absently batted a low-hanging branch out of his face, then had to jump sideways as it bounced back into place just a little quicker than he’d expected. Giving up on that path of travel, he spun on his heel—a little too swiftly, evidently, judging by the sudden, tingling surge that rode up from his toes.

“Oh, for gods’ sakes,” Laslow muttered to the empty air. “That can hardly be qualified as dancing.”

Unsurprisingly, he got no answer. He closed his eyes, stilling, forcing the magic to fade. It did, thankfully, as soon as he stopped moving. It had grown much more insistent in the week and a half since he’d properly discovered it, now coming forward at the slightest provocation.

 _How is this supposed to help if I can’t think through it?_ he wondered, unable to help directing a surge of indignation toward Anankos.

With one more shuddering breath, Laslow turned back toward camp. Xander would surely come calling if he stayed out much longer.

Time to face reality.

From the look of things—or more accurately, the sound of things—the rest of Laslow’s company had properly awoken. Silas was hauling out buckets of grain for the horses while Niles seemed to be sorting and folding a pile of blankets; Xander and Leo were both nursing cups of coffee, the former gazing steadily down the trail south and the latter leaning against a tree with one foot crossed over the other.

 _“Dear cousin!”_ Odin shouted, coming at a sprint from the other side of camp. “You return from your earliest of daybreak ventures—I was beginning to concern from the length of your interlude—have you _seen_ what lays ahead of us, Laslow?” He came to a halt at Laslow’s side so quickly he kicked up dust. “Truly, _‘Forlorn’_ does not do justice to the trials that surely await us—”

Laslow waited for Odin to take a breath, then cut in. “All right,” he said, directing a pointed gaze over the camp. “Who gave Odin coffee?”

A beat passed. “I’m beginning to see that was perhaps a poor choice,” Leo admitted.

“Just have someone pony Rommie and let Odin run it off,” Laslow deadpanned. “He’ll keep up.”

 _“Hey,”_ Odin pouted, still bouncing from foot to foot. “Just because the malevolent spirits within me take keenly to the dark elixirs doesn’t mean I need to be punished for accepting Lord Leo’s sacred gift—”

“Odin,” Laslow said, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “It’s the rest of us that are going to be punished. We have to _listen_ to your wailing malevolent spirits.”

~~~

**North of the Chevois Border Wall, Nohr—July 10, 635**

“Friend Niles,” Odin said on what would hopefully prove to be the last morning of their journey, after their company of six had been reduced to three. Despite their ominous title, the Woods of the Forlorn had offered them little trouble, and they had split from Xander’s company the previous day. “It occurs to me now that I have made a grave misstep.”

“Oh, my,” Niles said with an affronted gasp. “What did you do now, Odin?”

“I have never inquired upon the name of your great steed,” Odin said, offering a hand for Niles’s liver chestnut to sniff. “I do not know how to address her.”

Niles’s lips curled into a familiar smirk. “You could try ‘milady,’” he said. “She’s quite the demanding type, after all, I’m sure she’d appreciate your due respect—”

Leo cut in with a snort. “Niles, you know nothing of having a demanding mount,” he said. As if in response, Hati pinned his ears, sending a baleful glance at the bridle in Leo’s hand. “Enough of that,” the prince chided, lifting the crownpiece over the stallion’s head anyway. “You know better.”

“Milord, there is a difference between ‘demanding’ and ‘onerous,’” Niles pointed out. “Your boy there is the latter.”

“On that point I am inclined to agree,” Odin grumbled.

“Anyways,” Niles continued, still grinning, “you shouldn’t be surprised to learn that her name is a double entendre.”

In the background, Leo rolled his eyes.

“Ah,” said Odin. “I have gathered you do seem to be quite fond of such puns, fair compatriot. Grant me knowledge of her name’s dual meanings!”

“A Double Entendre,” Niles repeated, his grin growing even more. “That’s her name. I call her Dubs.”

...Was Leo _mouthing along?_ Odin wondered briefly. “Ha! A well and proper introduction to you at long last then, Dubs!”

“Dubs owes me a debt of gratitude,” Leo said loftily. “I had to veto several names before we got to that one.”

“I still can’t fathom why, milord,” said Niles. “They were all fine names.”

“If it helps you sleep at night,” Leo replied, vaulting onto Hati and gathering his reins. “Hurry up, you two, we ought to make the old border wall in an hour or so. Oh, and actually, Odin, I have need to speak with you.”

“Of course, milord!” Odin said, scrambling into his own saddle. “What matter torments your gifted mind?”

Leo inclined his head slightly to gesture him over—not technically out of Niles’s earshot, though the other retainer made a studious show of ignoring them. The prince cleared his throat, then began, “It did not feel proper to discuss this with Xander present, but now that he’s gone… I would appreciate if you could amicably work out your issues with Laslow between yourselves, though I will bring my brother into the matter if I have to—”

Odin cut his liege off with a puzzled look. “Why would you think I have a problem with Laslow?” he asked.

Leo’s brow furrowed. “Because the only time you two weren’t at each other’s throats this whole trip was when we separated you…?”

“You have a strange definition of that phrase, milord…” said Odin. “I don’t understand what could possibly have given you that impression… unless you refer to the needling which comes along with our ageless rivalry? Because I can assure you, my dark liege, that none of the sharp words we exchanged were intended in any fashion to wound.”

“You’re telling me you called him a legendary philanderer out of affection?” Leo asked dubiously.

 _“Doomed Philanderer of Legend,_ milord, it’s very important you give the title its due respect,” Odin corrected. “And why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not exactly a _flattering_ title,” said Leo. “Though I will refrain from making a judgment on its accuracy.”

“I can assure you it’s very accurate,” Odin told him gravely. “And that I take my duties as the elder of the two of us very seriously. It is my solemn task to be perpetually engaged in taking Laslow down a peg, lest his head grow too large to pass through doorways.”

Leo still seemed slightly flabbergasted at that, so Odin continued.

“Seriously, milord, it’s in good fun. Laslow and I have spent our entire lives together. Well, barring the few months after—” He quickly cut himself off. “Anyways, he is more brother than cousin to me. Are you saying you have never offered a similar quip to Lord Xander?”

Leo barked a laugh at that. “Honesty, Odin, do I _look_ like I want Siegfried sticking out my back?”

Odin blinked. “All right, fair point, milord.” He shrugged. “But it’s not terribly unlike you and Lady Corrin, no?”

Leo’s expression went unceremoniously blank at that, turning resolutely ahead so Odin could only see him in profile. “I suppose,” he admitted, then raised his voice. “Catch up, Niles, don’t pretend you weren’t listening.”

“Eavesdropping, milord? Me?”

“The only thing you’re better at is making people uncomfortable,” Leo shot back.

“Why, I’m flattered to hear you compliment my skills,” Niles replied, bringing Dubs up on the other side of Hati.

Leo sighed. “Honestly, at this point I should know to keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh, but _Lord Leo,_ there are so many fun things you can do with your mouth—I can offer a demonstration anytime you like—”

“Niles, _honestly.”_

Odin turned slightly away, grinning to himself. Between him, Laslow, and Selena, he was fairly sure _he’d_ gotten the best deal.

~~~

**Border Wall, on the edge of Cheve, Nohr—July 10, 635**

_“Whoa.”_

Had Odin been on foot, he would have pulled up short as they crested the last hill north of Chevois territory. As it was, Rommie kept plodding along toward the sight which had startled his rider so.

Ahead stretched an impossibly long line of trees, of which any one could have easily taken the spot of the largest specimen Odin had ever seen. Each one looked as if it had to be hundreds of years old, planted in an unwaveringly artificial line that reached from one horizon to the next. Crumbled ruins of bricks and wood had fallen at their base—but the destruction looked inexplicably fresh compared to the size of the trees.

“What sort of great divine act could have wrought this…?” he murmured.

Niles’s smirk as practically audible. “That would be Lord Leo.”

Odin whipped his head around to find his liege’s face once more studiously impassive. _“You_ did that, milord?”

“Indeed,” said Leo. “During Cheve’s rebellion six months past.”

Odin continued to gape at the wall. “How in the name of all gods did you manage _that?”_

“See, Odin, when Brynhildr and a Dragon Vein love each other very much—” Niles began.

_“Niles.”_

Odin had to press his knuckles to his mouth to contain a squeal, and his voice was higher than normal when he did speak. “Lord Leo, my estimation of you just went up _several_ notches.”

“Thank you, Odin, I appreciate it,” Leo said dryly.

“Clearly none could truly master the mercurial art of managing murderous shrubbery like you, milord,” Odin continued.

“...Murderous shrubbery?” Leo asked, quirking a brow. “It’s—Brynhildr is one of the _divine weapons,_ Odin, you can’t just…”

“But that’s what it is,” Odin pointed out. “I mean, so it’s _divine_ murderous shrubbery, I suppose.”

“Never mind,” Leo sighed. Then, in a lower tone, “Gods, Cheve again.”

“We have been here quite a great deal this past year,” Niles agreed.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think my father was doing it on purpose,” Leo muttered.

Odin cocked his head. “What do you mean, milord?”

A long moment passed before Leo answered, his voice guarded. “I’m technically half Chevois,” he admitted. “On my mother’s side.”

“Huh,” Odin said. “One would think Cheve would be on better terms with Nohr if they had endowed their last queen…”

“I never said my mother was queen,” Leo said, his tone even icier.

Odin blinked, then repeated, “Huh. How’s that work, then?” When a long moment passed without an answer, he continued, “Am I prying?”

“Yes, Odin, you are, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped,” Leo snapped.

“Sorry, milord.”

Leo only nodded in acknowledgment, then spurred Hati forward. “Let’s pick up the pace. We ought to be able to call upon Dame Colette by lunchtime.”

Niles, meanwhile, caught Odin’s eye and offered a shrug that almost seemed sympathetic. “Milord had quite a rocky relationship with his mother,” he said under his breath once Leo had gotten a few paces ahead. “He doesn’t generally appreciate the mention of her.”

“He’s the one who mentioned her, though,” Odin pointed out.

Niles shrugged again. Evidently his previous words hadn’t been quiet enough, though, because Leo turned back around.

“My dirty laundry is not yours to air, Niles,” the prince said, a darkly cold look in his eyes that suddenly made the destruction he’d wrought on the wall a fair bit more believable. Odin shivered.

“The concept of maternal hatred is rather foreign to me, milord,” Odin began, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand—”

“I don’t hate her,” Leo said flatly. “She doesn’t deserve that much credit. The only consideration I give her memory is one of staunch ambivalence. That the woman happened to birth me earns her no commendation. And I _believe_ that I closed the discussion. Now let’s go.”

Odin exchanged another glance with his fellow retainer and got only a second shrug in return. _And the mystery grows deeper yet again,_ he thought, then urged Rommie after Hati.

~~~

**Chevalier, Cheve, Nohr—July 10, 635**

The tension in the home of Dame Colette was thick enough to cut through. To her credit, the lady of the house did not show it.

“You must pardon the state of my home at present, Your Highness,” Colette said, despite the immaculate condition of the airy cabin. “Surely you understand how my priorities have shifted in the wake of my husband’s death.”

“Indeed,” said Leo dryly. He didn’t need to be telepathic to understand the undercurrent of her words: _My husband’s death fighting against the army you led._ “Don’t trouble yourself too much on our account.”

Colette hummed, then turned toward her kitchen. “I can offer you some tea.”

“That would be lovely, yes,” Leo said, crossing under the high rafters of the great room to settle himself at the heavily-hewn dining table. Niles followed at his heels, taking the seat to his right—Odin, meanwhile, seemed to have taken an interest in the collection of knick-knacks on the fireplace mantle. Leo kept a wary eye on him.

“Frankly,” Colette said, “I had expected to receive a visit from the crown before now.”

There was something in her bearing, Leo thought, that spoke of _knighthood,_ despite the myriad of reasons against it. She seemed almost too slight to properly wield an axe or sword, and even if she could, Nohr had never officially recognized the old Chevois knights when Cheve had been absorbed. The fact that she had held onto the title of ‘dame’ at all was a small miracle. Leo wondered briefly if Colette had fought against his father in those battles two decades ago and decided he was better off not knowing.

“We’ve been busy up north,” he answered. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Diabola’s trouble.”

“Of course,” said Colette. “But I’m sure you didn’t make the journey here to discuss Diabola’s trouble.”

“No,” said Leo. “I did not.” His gaze had turned from Odin, and when he brought it back he found his retainer eyeing a decorative rock on the mantle. When a click of Leo’s fingers didn’t get his attention, the prince cleared his throat, then finally muttered _“Odin.”_

“What?” Odin asked, his tone far louder than his liege’s.

Leo pointedly gestured to the chair on the other side of Niles. Odin, looking faintly disappointed, set the rock back down and wandered over.

“I thought it might be a holy moonstone,” Odin said under his breath as he sat down. “I was _investigating.”_

“Investigate less suspiciously,” Leo whispered.

Odin sighed and apparently missed the point, because his next sentence was, “Alas, I’m afraid it was just an ordinary rock.”

Leo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. At least Laslow and Selena, for all their flaws, did seem to consistently inhabit the same reality as the rest of them.

“So,” Colette said, fixing Leo with a level stare as she brought over their drinks. “Make your inquiries, if you would.”

Before Leo could begin, however, the front door swung open, bringing a wave of hot summer air along with it. “Of all the dirty, low-down, gods-damned—” the entering figure began, then abruptly cut off.

Colette merely looked up with a stony gaze. “Close the door, Scarlet,” she said, her tone flat and no-nonsense. “We have guests.”

A long moment passed before Scarlet complied with her mother’s request. “Yeah,” she said dryly. “I see that.” Then, with a bow that was too stiff to be anything but mocking, she offered, “Your Highness,” before stalking toward the kitchen.

“Scarlet,” Leo returned, lifting his mug to his lips as his gaze followed her. He had only crossed paths with her a handful of times, and only the first of those had been remotely amicable. The second had ended in a riot, the third had been on the battlefield, and the last…

_“You’re liable to get your head done in, out by yourself.”_

_“There’s one big difference between you and me. I fight for my people, and for my freedom, and for what’s right. You fight because your daddy told you to.”_

_“So kill me now, Prince Leo, or I swear to every god you hold dear I will make you live to regret it.”_

Scarlet offered none of that now—unsurprisingly, considering the difference between her comfortable home filled with witnesses and a dark and dirty alleyway after curfew. There was still a line of tension visible where her bare shoulders emerged from the frayed, sleeveless top she wore and she closed every cabinet door a little too hard as she moved through the kitchen.

An odd dichotomy she made with Colette, Leo thought—broad, blonde Scarlet barely concealing her rage next to willowy, brunette, endlessly poised Colette. It seemed the maternal bloodline hadn’t come through too strongly in that generation.

“Allow me to get this straight,” Colette said, finally taking the last seat at the table. “You have some very strong evidence that I committed the crime you accuse me of. And yet you have equally strong evidence that I did not.”

“That is a fairly accurate summary, yes,” said Leo. “Veritasages are quite difficult to fool, and yet someone has pulled the wool over their eyes.”

“Have you considered,” Colette asked, “that perhaps this Zola was hired by someone _pretending_ to be me?”

“I am not here to question Zola’s story,” Leo said. “I am here to investigate _your_ innocence.”

She offered a tight smile. “But are those two not hopelessly intertwined?”

Leo mirrored the expression. “That’s for me to decide.”

A loud bang sounded as some unseen pot fell down in a cabinet, followed by a muffled storm of cursing from Scarlet. She tentatively opened the offending cabinet and was rewarded with a small avalanche of metal.

“Ah!” Odin said, springing to his feet. “Allow me to aid you in returning your cookery to their rightful places—”

“Do I look like I need your help?” Scarlet snapped in return.

Odin shot her a befuddled look, then turned his gaze back to Leo; the prince gestured for him to sit once more, which he did with a slightly cowed expression.

“We won’t stay long,” Leo said. “I’ve read the transcript of your testimony, and there are others I must call upon today. Rest assured I’ll return shortly, though.”

“Indeed,” said Colette. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I have things I must attend to today.”

“Of course,” Leo said. “Don’t let me impose on you.”

Colette nodded and rose—then, heading toward the back hallway of the house, she disappeared into what was presumably a bedroom.

Leo gazed after her for a long moment, then turned back. “Odin, Niles, if you’ll ready the horses,” he said loftily. Only after they murmured their agreements and took their leave did he rise. “Now, Scarlet,” he said. “If you would pardon my curiosity on just what you were cursing up such a storm about when you came in.”

Scarlet was still crouched on the floor, despite the fact she’d crammed the last pan back into the cupboard a solid minute ago. “If I tell you that,” she said dryly, “you’ll either wash my mouth or execute me. I’m not much in the mood for either.”

A beat passed. “Humor me,” Leo said; not quite an order, but very, very near to one.

Scarlet tensed. “Your soldiers are on a powertrip here, Prince Leo,” she said. “Not that that’s a surprise to anyone.”

“They’re not my soldiers,” Leo pointed out, crossing his arms. “They’re my father’s.”

“And just how much of a difference does that make, exactly?” Scarlet asked, rising and turning to face him.

“The difference is that my authority only goes so far,” said Leo. “I am as much a servant to my king as you are.”

Scarlet didn’t quite manage to contain a snort at that. “Sure.” Her hands closed into fists at her sides before she hurriedly crossed her arms. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your king’s work, then.”

Leo turned toward the door, already in the opening, gazing at the newly-arrived and familiar one-eyed wyvern—a creature who had lost said appendage to Leo’s own one-eyed retainer—when Scarlet spoke again in a tone he had surely not been intended to hear.

_“Nohrian son of a bitch.”_

Leo merely inclined his head slightly and replied, dripping with irony, “Oh, Scarlet, I offer you no arguments there.”


	20. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Spent my days  
>  Watching and waiting  
> Killed my faith  
> Participating  
> In this crusade  
> Still masquerading  
> As the lie  
> That we're creating..._

**Palace Macarath, Macarath, Nohr—July 19, 635**

“Laslow of the Azure Skiiiies,” Odin called, weaving through the bright stables of Palace Macarath. They were almost as large as Castle Krakenburg’s, though not nearly as dark; their light, airy design seemed closer to Ylissean architecture than Nohrian. “Your dearest cousin returns!”

A long moment passed before Laslow grumbled in return, “You’re my only cousin.”

“Yes, and so I have been for your entire existence,” Odin replied. He’d reached the very fringes of the barn, toward an open and unbedded stall with sunlight streaming in. Skoll was tied in one corner, his eyes drooping and his black hide sudsy, whilst Laslow had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and was finger-combing more soap through the stallion’s tail. “You have been truly blessed by your liege’s choice in mount,” Odin added.

Skoll blew out a sigh and cocked his back foot.

“If I had to take care of Hati, I’m pretty sure I would no longer reside on this earth,” Laslow replied dryly, shaking the bubbles from his hands, then hauling up a bucket of water toward Skoll’s back for a rinse. “But at least your liege takes care of his own horse.”

“True,” Odin admitted, sidling around to scratch at Skoll’s chin.

Laslow sighed, sounding melancholy even for him. “Although this guy and I get along pretty well.” His tone brightened, though it sounded forced. “Anyways, how was Cheve? And happy birthday, by the way, since I missed it. Hope Lord Leo did something nice for you.”

Odin shrugged, pausing in his ministrations. Skoll protested by nudging at his shoulder and Odin resumed. “The subject didn’t come up,” he admitted.

“Ah,” said Laslow. “Yeah, I wasn’t… really planning on telling Lord Xander about mine, either. Too much fuss. He’ll probably just think I’m trying to weasel a day off.” He, too, shrugged. “We can see if we can convince Selena to come out for drinks with us next time our schedules line up.”

“Sounds good,” Odin said absently. “But Cheve was… unfruitful.” He sighed. Laslow finished rinsing Skoll and moved then to scrape the water from his gleaming coat. “We found no evidence of Dame Colette’s guilt… or her innocence.”

A beat passed. “You’d think no evidence of guilt would mean innocence in itself,” Laslow mused.

“You’d think,” Odin repeated deadpan. “But His Majesty has bid my dark liege to return home, so…”

“Yeah,” said Laslow. “Us too. We’ve just been waiting on you.” He yanked the loop on Skoll’s lead rope free and finished, “All right, buddy, let’s go have some grass.”

Speaking of grass, Odin thought as they emerged back into the fading sunlight, Macarath seemed to be the greenest place in Nohr he’d been yet, barring the dark and sickly shades of the Woods of the Forlorn. Perhaps the country really wasn’t as wholly barren as they’d first suspected, though he couldn’t imagine the cost of shipping food as far north as Windmire. “So I’ve noticed the watchful eyes of your liege aren’t upon you for your every waking moment,” Odin finally ventured.

Skoll decided on a particularly grassy spot, leaving Laslow to let out a snort and lower himself to the ground beside the destrier. “Mainly because he wanted to talk with Lord Leo, I suspect.”

“Still, one must be ever vigilant about counting the small blessings in life,” Odin said, sitting beside his cousin. “So what of the reverse, then? How have you fared thus far in Macarath?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Laslow grumbled, his face resolutely turned toward Skoll’s happy munching.

“Huh,” said Odin. “That bad? Has Lord Xander truly been so overbearing that—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Laslow’s harsh snap rang in the air for a long moment, leaving even Skoll to pause in his grazing and flick an ear in his direction.

“...You’re awfully touchy today, my friend,” Odin pointed out softly.

Laslow blew out a breath and scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just—I feel like I’m losing my damned mind in this place, and Lord Xander has his head so far up his—” He cut himself off with a bitter laugh. “Right. Lèse-majesté. I’ll shut up now.” He shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I disapprove of his methods and he disapproves of me having a mind of my own. Nothing new. On that front at least.”

“Are you saying there’s something new on another front?”

Laslow opened his mouth then swiftly closed it again. “Tomorrow night,” he finally began, “when we’re back on the road, can you meet me outside camp?”

Odin tilted his head. “Why tomorrow?”

“There’s too many people here,” Laslow said, idly yanking a few strands of graze from the earth. “I can’t risk anyone…”

“Laslow,” Odin said, his voice growing sharp with concern. “Are you okay?”

Laslow’s answer was another humorless laugh. “I’m not sure I have the answer to that anymore, Odin.”

~~~

**Giant’s Pass, north of the Woods of the Forlorn, Nohr—July 20, 635**

The advantage of traveling was that it forced the usually disparate schedules of the two Nohrian princes into alignment—though it seemed night owl Leo was making the bigger sacrifice to match up with early bird Xander. Leo’s misfortune, however, turned into Laslow’s fortune—sneaking out had not been nearly the ordeal he’d feared.

“Hey,” Odin said under his breath, casting a wary glance at the three silent tents behind them.

Laslow could only offer a slightly wobbly smile in return.

“Okay, seriously,” Odin continued. “You okay?”

Laslow swallowed, managing to get out, “Not here.” Without waiting for an answer, he strode toward the treeline. “There’s something I need to show you.”

“Something of what nature, exactly?”

“That’s, ah… gonna be a little difficult to explain, actually.” When he deemed them far enough away for safety, he sucked in a breath. “I need you to tell me if you, um, feel anything, okay?”

“...Okay,” Odin said, sounding faintly bemused.

Laslow chewed on his lip for a moment, then turned away—he could at least make this a fraction easier on himself if he wasn’t watching his cousin watching him.

And then, for the first time since that fateful night in the Northern Fortress, he took one light, fleeting step and deliberately tapped into the magic simmering below the surface.

Just like before, it only took a fraction of a second for the rush to wash over him, _streaming through him, even more than before, sheer strength coursing through him—_

_“You are an ocean of waves—”_

Once more, Laslow was forced to pull up short before the exhilaration completely overwhelmed him. Clammy and panting, he couldn’t help but strain his ears for a melody he couldn’t quite hear—so he _hadn’t_ been imagining the song last time, he was quite certain he’d been able to make out at least one line clearly over the mayhem—

“Yes, I do think I felt something,” Odin said dryly. “I believe the term is called ‘soaking wet.’”

Laslow spun back around, wide-eyed, to meet the gaze of his cousin. His cousin, who seemed to have decided to take a quick dip under a waterfall, judging by the state of his clothes.

“...Did I do that?”

“I should hope you did, dear cousin, else I imagine we’re about to perish from some new and unforeseen attack before we can even manage to make it back to camp to alert our company.” When a long moment passed and no such attack came, Odin finally lifted a hand to comb through his sodden fringe. “All right,” he said, much more seriously. “Since when do _you,_ of all people, have… _water magic?”_

Laslow might have risen to the defensive if he hadn’t been quite so bent out of shape about the matter. “I, um… actually hadn’t noticed the water part before now…” he admitted.

Odin’s brows shot toward his hairline. “What do you mean, _you hadn’t noticed?_ What, did you bring me out here to try out pick up lines on me?”

“No!” Laslow said, rolling his eyes. “You utter—ugh, never mind, I don’t even want to go into the details of your buffoonery right now. It’s not water magic—or at least it’s not _strictly_ water magic, I guess. It’s…” He swallowed. “It’s… Odin, it’s _dancer_ magic.”

_“...Oh,”_ said Odin. “You mean like your—so that’s why you wanted me to—but I don’t remember Aunt Olivia ever flinging water around while she danced,” he pointed out with another raise of his brows.

“Me neither,” Laslow replied dryly.

Odin’s eyes narrowed. “So how long has this been going on?”

“I didn’t figure out _what_ it was until a couple weeks ago, when we were in the Northern Fortress. But it’s been there a lot longer. Since the Mila Tree.”

“So _he_ gave it to you,” Odin said pointedly.

Laslow nodded. “I thought it was just part of… all this,” he said, gesturing to himself and trying to encompass his changed appearance and boosted senses. “But I’m guessing you don’t feel like you… could leap up a mountain and sweep through an army the second you get into a fight, do you?”

“You underestimate my skills, dear cousin,” Odin said. “For I _have,_ in fact, swept through an army on multiple occasions—” He cut himself off at Laslow’s dirty look. “No. At least no more so than usual. I hold the private suspicion that perhaps I am a little more proficient in the dark arts of combat than I ought to be after three years at peace, but nothing more than that.”

“Right,” said Laslow, turning away from Odin and beginning to pace. “So it _was_ my magic then, which I’d guessed. Which means… agh, gods.”

“Forgive me for saying,” Odin said, “but you seem rather upset about this development considering that I know for a fact it has been one of the greatest wishes of your lifetime to follow in your mother’s footsteps.”

A long moment passed while Laslow paused. “Yeah,” he said. “It has been.”

“So what exactly is the issue, then?”

Another beat. “I can’t _control_ it,” Laslow said, a hint of anguish leaking into his tone. “It’s been building this whole time, and now it’s so strong and so overwhelming that I can’t _think_ around it—and it’s not just when I dance, it’s when I _fight,_ like the damn thing is getting confused, and I almost got myself killed in Macarath the other day because we got in a skirmish and I could barely think fast enough to react, and—I don’t even understand why he’d give this to me! What good is it supposed to do if it’s going to _cripple_ me as a fighter, I don’t—”

_“Breathe,_ Inigo,” Odin said, stepping in front of his cousin and laying his hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t call me that,” Laslow couldn’t help but snap despite the panic in his voice. “What if Niles followed us or something?”

A beat passed. “If Niles followed us, I think we’re already screwed, my friend,” Odin pointed out. He frowned, then said, louder, “Niles, you’re not listening, are you?” When a long silence passed without a response, he continued, “Okay, I think we’re safe.”

“Oh, like he’d _answer,”_ Laslow said, rolling his eyes.

“Touché,” Odin admitted. Then, sobering again, he continued, “So what is it that you need from me, exactly?”

“I don’t know!” Laslow exclaimed. “You have magic! Help me!”

“...Laslow,” Odin sighed. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but all magic is _not_ the same… I know next to nothing about dancer magic, and _water_ magic is so impossibly rare as to ascend toward myth… There’s a _reason_ it’s never used on the battlefield. Even the most obscure of Robin’s tomes mention it only in passing and they speak of it as practically legend. Water is, in some fashions, the single most powerful force of nature, and the study of it has often proved to be so mercurial as to be rendered uncontrollable.” He frowned. “Even _I_ would think long and hard before even beginning to dabble in it, and you know where my priorities usually lie.”

“Yeah, I do. They’re usually something along the lines of ‘I might die but that’s fine as long as I look cool doing it,’” Laslow replied dryly.

“I haven’t died yet, have I?” Odin asked sullenly.

Laslow pointedly ignored that comment. “But uncontrollable isn’t an _option,”_ he said. “We have a mission. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to be able to fight to accomplish it.”

“Right,” said Odin. “So really, your best bet is going to be figuring out how to shut it down.”

Laslow shot him a scathing look. “Gee, thanks, Odin, I never would have thought of that. Definitely haven’t spent the past few weeks trying to figure that out.”

Odin rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. This is… rather unprecedented.”

“I know,” Laslow admitted with a sigh. “But who else am I gonna tell? Lord Leo? I know you like him enough, Odin, but I’m not sure how mutual that feeling is and I’m not about to trust him with something like this.”

“Yeah, all right,” said Odin. “Other than Selena, there isn’t really anyone we _can_ tell.”

“I don’t want to tell Selena,” Laslow said quickly. “Not yet, at least. There’s just… too much.”

A moment passed. “All right,” said Odin. “If you’re sure.” His gaze went distant. “There are _certain_ things I can probably help you with—the ebb and flow of the magic itself and how one taps into it… although you’re clearly not channeling it through any sort of tome which is going to make life difficult…” He cocked his head. “Can I have another demonstration?”

Laslow couldn’t help but stiffen. “The more I do it, the stronger it gets,” he admitted softly.

“But _not_ doing it isn’t making it go away, is it?” Odin pointed out. “It may have to get worse before it gets better.”

Laslow looked askance. “All right,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”

It was still a long moment before he could force his feet to move again. It was just Odin, he told himself, watching with scientific curiosity and without knowledge or care of Laslow’s dancing technique. He could do this.

_“Join in the tale, in the blight, of conquest and lies—”_

_—strength in the melody, a surging drumbeat to guide his steps—_

_“Come the sun, to tarnish in the sky, vow that we shall tear the light—”_

_—and finally a balance, tantalizingly out of reach, if he could only FOCUS—_

_“Dark seize the throne, lost in thoughts, all alone…”_

“Whoa!”

Odin’s exclamation effectively shattered what little concentration Laslow had been able to gather. He stumbled just in time to watch his cousin dodge the wave of water crashing toward him, missing him by inches to splash into one of the nearby trees.

“Suppose you’ve saved me a bath at least,” Odin grumbled.

Laslow ignored him. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“The song,” Laslow said. When Odin shook his head, he continued, “There’s this song… I thought I was imagining it, but now I can just about make it out…” He closed his eyes, humming the melody before murmuring the most recent lines.

“Conquest and lies…” Odin repeated thoughtfully. “Sounds reminiscent of our mission here.”

“Yeah,” said Laslow. “It kind of does. But there’s more to it than that, I’m sure.” He tilted his head, as if the song would impart its secrets if he just _listened_ hard enough.

“You didn’t want to sleep tonight, did you?” Odin asked dryly. “Because I get the feeling this might take a while.”

“Understatement of the year,” Laslow replied, already stepping out again in search of the melody.

_“So obtain the fate you sow, on this path be wary friend and foe…”_

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—July 22, 635**

“...So I believe, owing to the village’s isolation and the swiftness of our retribution, that they are unlikely to offer us any more trouble for the time being,” Xander said. “Duchess Mariel has made it very clear that the rest of Macarath does not share their treasonous views.”

A moment passed before a faintly pleased expression crossed Garon’s features. “You have done me proud once again, my son.”

Xander dipped his head. “I act only for the interests and glory of Nohr.”

“And as well you do,” said the king. “You are dismissed.”

Another beat passed as Leo glanced briefly sideways at Xander, then turned his attention back to the throne. “...Father?” he ventured. “I have not yet reported on my mission in Cheve—”

Garon glanced over as if he’d only just remembered Leo was present. “I do not need your report,” he said flatly. “The matter has been resolved.”

_Resolved?_ Leo thought, about to speak again when his father spoke again.

“Dismissed.”

Brothers exchanged glances once more, then bowed and retreated from the throne room.

“Resolved?” Leo said, aloud this time.

Xander merely shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything on the matter besides what you’ve told me,” he said. “I don’t have the faintest clue what he meant.”

Leo frowned. “Nor do I.” His first thought was that perhaps Garon had ordered Colette killed, but if that had been his plan why send Leo south in the first place? “Perhaps I ought to pay a visit to Zola,” he mused.

“Perhaps you ought,” Xander said, then let out a small sigh. “And perhaps I ought to go make sure my wayward retainer has not taken the chance to corner some poor maid immediately upon our return.”

Leo let out a soft snort. “Good luck,” he said. He watched his brother’s retreating form for a moment, then turned on his heel and descended into the depths of Krakenburg.

~~~

“I wish to speak with one of the prisoners,” Leo said, breathing shallowly through his mouth between the words in a vain attempt to avoid the lingering stench of the castle dungeons. “The one by the name of Zola.”

The tall, balding guard on duty nodded, then began to shuffle through a stack of papers on his desk. Leo shifted his weight, his boots sliding slightly on the damp stone floors.

“Ah,” said the guard after a moment. “Zola has been released, Your Highness. Three days ago.”

“Released?” Leo asked, raising his brows. “On whose orders?”

The guard checked his papers again. “Iago’s, by permission of His Majesty.”

_Iago,_ Leo thought with a faint chill. “And do you have any clue where Zola might be now?”

“He is still currently confined to the castle,” the guard said, “though that restriction is subject to be lifted by good behavior.”

_Well,_ Leo thought, _that elucidates exactly nothing._ The word _resolved_ still echoed faintly in his head. “Thank you,” he said aloud. “You’ve been most helpful.” With that, he turned on his heel, his cloak swirling as he went.

At least he didn’t have to spend any longer in the dungeons, he thought, though he was still left cursing every staircase he’d just descended that he shortly had to climb back up again. The walk from the dungeons to Iago’s quarters may have been a long one indeed, but Leo wanted _answers._

He still had to steel himself for a second in front of the sorcerer’s quarters before he could bring himself to knock.

“Ah,” said Iago, hardly a moment after he appeared in the doorway. “Your Highness. I would say it’s a pleasant surprise, but I’ve been rather expecting you.”

“Have you now?” Leo asked mildly, quirking a brow. “And why would that be?”

“Well, I know for a fact your investigative tendencies are second to none, Your Highness.”

“Why, Iago,” Leo said, his tone not wavering from its carefully crafted neutrality, “are you calling me nosy?”

Iago only answered with a smirk that seemed to say _If the shoe fits,_ then stepped aside and gestured Leo in.

The man’s quarters never failed to catch Leo off-guard—when he’d first visited them, he had expected them to be as dark and foreboding as Iago’s usual attire. Instead, though, the room was awash in the eye-aching glow of too many candles, flickering in wildly clashing patterns along the walls. Leo often wondered, judging by Iago’s preference for spells of the Ragnarok family, if the tactician simply had a thing for fire.

“If you’ve been expecting me, then,” Leo said, “I would assume you already know why I’m here.”

“I admit,” Iago said, clicking the door shut with a finality that sent a shiver up Leo’s spine, “that Zola’s situation intrigued me greatly as well. Thanks to my continued investigations, I was able to reveal the truth.”

The last was said with a smug smirk and followed by a dramatic pause. Leo resisted the urge to roll his eyes and said “And what would that be?”

“Zola _believed_ he was hired by Dame Colette,” Iago said triumphantly. “He was not. He was hired by someone pretending to be her.”

“Ah,” said Leo. “Hence the conflicting reports of the veritasages.” The magic veritasages employed wasn’t designed to discern _absolute_ truth—only that which the defendant _believed_ to be true. “But that doesn’t explain his release. Whether his actions implicated Colette or not, a crime was still committed. Xander and I could have been killed in his assault if things had gone differently.”

“And penance will be paid for that crime,” said Iago. “Zola will carry out a sentence of service to the crown, under my direct supervision.”

Had Leo dared take his eyes from Iago during the conversation, his head would have whipped back around at that. “You intend to keep him as a _servant?”_

“Of course,” Iago said smoothly. “What better place for him? Surely you would not wish a man with such unique talents as Zola falling into the hands of our enemies again, Your Highness.”

Leo inhaled slowly, then forced a tight smile. “You’re right, of course,” he said smoothly. “Best to keep him here where we can keep an eye on him.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Iago said. “And while I hate to cut our lovely visit short, I was just on my way out.”

“Of course,” said Leo. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Iago bowed and gestured him out the door.

Only after it clicked shut behind him did Leo let his head tip back and his shoulders slump.

~~~

“So I have an idea,” Odin whispered, sending a furtive glance down the hallways. Upon judging it clear, he continued, “Regarding your… issue of the moment.”

Laslow gave his own darting look around, then murmured, “Yeah?”

“If the problem is, as you put it, that you fight like you dance,” said Odin, “I would assume there’s something specifically in the motion of the steps which triggers it. Could that be alleviated by _mounted_ combat?”

Laslow paused. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “But maybe?”

“I mean, it would be a temporary solution at best,” Odin said. “But it might be enough to give you a reprieve whilst you work on your control. Although I’m sure Lord Xander will immediately take to rectifying your many deficiencies in that area—”

_“Hey,”_ said Laslow. “I may not be quite _as_ good fighting on horseback as I am on foot, but I’m not _bad._ I would care to remind you that I dueled _Walhart_ mounted, thank you very much.”

Odin gave him a deadpan stare. “You almost died. In fact, I do believe that has perhaps been your closest brush with the reaper so far, my friend.”

_“That,”_ Laslow said, “is beside the point.” He glanced up, cutting himself off and plastering a grin on his face. “Why, my dear Selena, you’re looking positively radiant today.”

“And you’re sounding positively obnoxious today, Laslow,” Selena replied. “Oh, hang on, that’s business as usual, then.”

“Hey,” said Laslow.

“Ha! Your sharp wit ever astounds, my redheaded compatriot,” Odin said.

“Yeah, and your sharp…” Selena trailed off, frowning. “Nope, I got nothing. I can’t compare you to anything sharp because there’s nothing sharp about you. Sorry.”

“Hey,” said Odin.

Laslow snickered. Selena quickly rounded on him.

“You’re awfully quick to laugh when the attention’s not on you,” she said. “You’d better watch it.”

“Laughing?” said Laslow. “Moi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, I don’t have all day. Let’s get going.”

“I’m surprised you had time to come with us at all,” Laslow said, falling in step beside her.

“Yeah, well, unlike _you_ two idiots,” Selena said, _“my_ liege actually likes me.”

“Huh,” said Odin. “Lady Camilla has interesting tastes.”

“You work with Niles, I’m not sure you can comment on my liege having interesting tastes,” Selena shot back.

“That’s true,” Laslow said.

“But anyway,” Selena continued, “I hadn’t seen Ophelia in a while. And I want to meet the kid who had the horrible sense to attach herself to Laslow.”

“Oh, come on,” Laslow said. “It’s not that bad. She’s probably forgotten already. And I had _nothing_ to do with it.”

“I wouldn’t hold out too long for her forgetting you, Laslow,” Odin said. “Small children have surprising tenacity.”

“And surprising leaps in logic, too,” Laslow grumbled. The other two only laughed at him for that.

A few minutes later, the playroom opened up before them once again, filled as always with loud voices and pounding feet. Ophelia, as per usual, was the first to spot them, coming to a stop so quickly she almost stumbled over her own feet before immediately changing directions, dragging Potato the Pegasus by the tail. “Daddy! Aunt Selena! Uncle Laslow!” She pulled up short again once more, though, her eyes going wide. “Daddy, wait! I made you a birthday card!” With that, she adjusted course once more, this time aiming for one of the maids and making a none-too-hushed inquiry of her.

“A birthday card, huh?” Selena asked dryly. “Aren’t you special, Odin. I hope she filled it with glitter.”

“That’s an awful hex to wish upon me, Selena,” Odin said, though his tone was absent and his indulgent gaze turned entirely on his daughter.

Laslow, meanwhile, shot a glance of his own around the room and came up empty. _No Soleil, then?_ he thought, an odd surge of relief and disappointment rising in him.

“So where’s yours, then?” Selena asked as if she’d read his mind.

“I’m not sure—”

“Hi.”

Laslow couldn’t quite muffle the startled “Gah!” that escaped him, while Selena didn’t even bother to disguise her snicker. “Ah… hello, Soleil,” he managed, glancing down at the solemn, pink-haired face gazing up at him. When she didn’t say anything else for a long moment, he continued, “And how are you today?”

“I need to talk to you,” she said seriously instead of answering. She shifted her two stuffed kittens—both clutched tightly against her chest—into one arm, then reached up to give Laslow’s hand an unceremonious tug toward a seating area in the corner.

Laslow, of course, followed, though not without shooting a bemused look at Selena over his shoulder.

Soleil stopped him in front of a chair that was clearly designed for someone her size rather than his, though the stern look she sent him had him gingerly settling in it despite the fact he all but ended up with his chin in his knees. “I _need,”_ Soleil said, dropping to a cushion across from him, “to know when your birthday is.”

“Oh,” said Laslow. Then, rather dumbly, he didn’t actually answer her. “Why’s that?”

Soleil heaved a sigh of such proportions it would have seemed more at place from someone ten years her senior. “So I can _make_ you something. Duh.”

“Oh,” Laslow said again. “Er, you don’t need to do that.”

“Yes I do,” said Soleil, with a look that said she thought him _very_ thick. “Ophelia made her daddy something.”

“Yes, but—” Laslow began, then broke off when he realized that sentence would end along the lines of _I’m not your daddy._ “Okay. It’s August seventh.”

“Mine is August thirty-first.”

“Hey,” said Laslow, smiling despite himself. “We’re August buddies.”

Soleil blinked, tilting her head slightly. “Is that soon?”

“Pretty soon,” said Laslow. “It’s July. August is next.”

Soleil gave him another _Boy, you’re dumb_ sort of look. Laslow shrugged to himself—how was he supposed to know her knowledge base?

“I’ll help you make him a card, Soleil,” Selena cut in, a wicked edge to her voice. “With lots of _glitter.”_

Soleil gave her an appraising look. “... _Pink_ glitter?”

“Absolutely,” Selena told her.

Soleil gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then—still tightly gripping both Lord and Lady Whiskers—scrambled to her feet and darted across the room.

“...Boy,” Selena said when Soleil was out of earshot. “She _is_ attached to you.”

“I told you,” Laslow said, though his insistence was half-hearted. “And it’s a little odd, sure, but…” He sighed. “What harm can it do?”

Selena quirked a brow at him. “Harm?” she asked. “What about when we’re done here? When it’s time to go home? What, you don’t think you’re gonna just bring her with you, do you?”

Laslow bit his cheek, an especially ridiculous scenario popping into his head—him, at the gates of the palace in Dai’chi, with a typical disarming grin and a _Sorry for the absence, love, didn’t think it would be quite this long, but I happen to have brought us a child so maybe all’s forgiven, hm?_

“That’s a long way off, though,” he murmured. “I’ll figure something out by then.”

Selena didn’t have time to answer before Soleil returned, gazing at them both with pondering eyes before marching back up to Laslow and, without pretense, clambering into his lap.

“Uh,” Laslow said, hoping absently the chair didn’t collapse under the both of them. “What are you doing?”

“You looked sad,” Soleil said matter-of-factly. “So I wanted to give you my happy feelings.” She pulled back to peer at him. “Are you getting them okay?”

And some deep part of Laslow _melted_ under the first semblance of peace he’d felt since he’d set foot in Nohr.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.”


	21. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’ve been looking for a way to bring you back to life  
>  And if I could find a way then I would bring you back tonight  
> I’d make you look, I’d make you lie, I’d take the coldness from your eyes  
> But you told me, if you loved me, let it die  
> And you left me more dead than you’ll ever know, when you left me alone..._

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—October 20, 635**

The moderate Nohrian summer crested, peaked, and died with its typical alacrity, fading back into the all-too-familiar chill. Even scarcely a month after the autumnal equinox the country had descended back into a frigidity any other land would deem winter.

Niles, all dragons bless him, already had a fire roaring in Leo’s hearth; the second prince made a beeline for it the moment he cleared his doorway.

“Good afternoon, milord,” Niles said, sitting quite cozily in one of Leo’s chairs as he worked a needle through a threadbare shirt. “My, does someone need warming up?”

 _“Niles,”_ Leo said, rolling his eyes with a vain hope he could cut off the innuendos before they started. He held his hands over the fire for the moment before shucking his wet cloak and tossing it over the back of the other armchair; the day hadn’t been necessarily _cold_ by Nohrian standards, but it was proving bone-chillingly _damp._ “Where’s Odin?”

“He seemed to be under the impression you gave him the rest of the day off, milord,” Niles said without looking up from his work.

“Well, yes, I did,” Leo said, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of his voice, “but now I need him. I’ve just received a letter from Duke Wilhelm requesting my urgent presence.”

All told, things had been relatively quiet in Windmire since July or so—Cheve had settled into disgruntled silence, and while Faceless still troubled Diabola their most faithful territory had risen to keep the threat in check well enough. Oddly enough, it was only Leo’s personal life that had remained in upheaval; Odin, bafflingly, still unfailingly rose to meet every ludicrous challenge Leo placed in front of him. Just that week he had sent Odin to defeat ‘spirits’ inhabiting the Woods of the Forlorn, intending to merely let the man have at some Faceless to get him out of the castle for a time, yet Odin had returned that morning, unscathed, with exaggerated tales that seemed to imply _actual_ spirits. Leo had sighed and told him, in far politer words, to get out of his hair for the rest of the day.

“I believe he went to go visit his daughter,” Niles said after a moment.

Leo snorted. “Niles, I’m not sure what sort of expression I’m wearing that leads you to believe I’m in the mood for jokes today, but I’m really not.”

A beat passed before Niles glanced up. “Was I joking, milord?”

“You tell me,” Leo said, warming his palms for a moment more before turning away from the fire in search of fresh clothing.

Another beat. “No…?” Then, with a smirk, Niles added, “I am as ever-serious as you always require me, Lord Leo.”

Leo ignored the jab, turning from his dresser to shoot his retainer a bemused look. “What do you mean, then, his daughter?”

“I mean… his daughter?” said Niles. “Ophelia?”

Leo’s bemusement turned into downright boggling. _“Odin,”_ he said, “has a _daughter?”_

“Unless some terrible fate has befallen her in the last two hours or so,” Niles replied deadpan.

 _“Odin,”_ Leo repeated, “has _reproduced?”_ At Niles’s smirk, he continued, “Why in the name of the Dusk Dragon didn’t you tell me _that?”_

“I assumed you already knew, milord,” Niles said, having the decency to at least look sheepish. “From either your father or Odin himself. That’s why he didn’t come back from Diabola with the rest of us to begin with. He had to arrange for her care.”

“You’re telling me,” Leo said, “that _Odin,_ who has served me for over four months and is _physically incapable of shutting up_ has never mentioned the fact he has a _child?”_

“He mentions her quite often, actually. Apparently just never when you’re in the room.”

Leo schooled his flabbergasted features once more into neutrality, his words sharp when they left his lips. “Where would I find them, then? I still need to speak with him.” _And give him a piece of my damned mind,_ he added silently as he pulled out another, drier cloak.

“She lives in the castle creche, though I couldn’t give you specifics,” said Niles. “For some reason, Odin doesn’t seem to want little old me around his precious girl.”

“I think I can figure it out from there, thank you,” Leo said, his tone clipped. “And get some packing done while I’m out. I imagine we’ll be leaving for Diabola tomorrow.”

“Yes, _milord,”_ Niles replied in a faintly mocking tone that Leo promptly ignored.

~~~

The long descent into Krakenburg’s depths did little to soften Leo’s shock; he was still faintly seething when he’d been directed to the doorway of Odin’s daughter, though whether his irritation was directed toward his wayward retainer or merely from being out of the loop himself, he couldn’t say.

Odin’s voice wound through the slightly ajar doorway, his tone weaving into highs and lows that sounded almost melodic. When Leo peered in, his retainer was cross-legged on the floor, his evident daughter between his knees, watching with rapture as sparks danced off her father’s fingertips. “And thus the maiden of the lake, struck by the young hero’s bravery, declared that he—”

It was at that moment Ophelia glanced up, her wide eyes turning to Leo, a soft “Oh,” falling from her lips.

Odin’s gaze followed hers, a beat passing before he let out a startled “Lord Leo!”

“At ease, Odin,” the prince said, though the words escaped his suddenly-dry mouth a fraction too slow—Odin had already scrambled to his feet, the motion entirely graceless but with a speed Leo would’ve thought impossible.

The two gazed at each other for a painfully long second—Odin seemed too puzzled by his liege’s intrusion to know what to say, while Leo was too thrown by the domesticity he’d walked in on to get out any semblance of an order.

It was, in the end, Ophelia who broke the awkward silence with whispered reverence. “So _you’re_ the Dark Lord Leo,” she breathed.

“Ah,” Leo said, which happened to be the only thing he could get out before the girl marched up to him.

“Fate has finally crossed our paths! But Daddy says I should greet people first before saying other things. So—” She held up a stuffed pegasus, dangling awkwardly by a wing, “this is Potato the Hero Pegasus, and she sends her warm greetings to you, Dark Lord Leo!” She finished with a toothy grin, then added, “And I’m Ophelia.”

 _Dusk Dragon,_ Leo thought. _Odin cloned himself._ “Nice to… finally meet you, Ophelia,” he managed, glancing over the girl’s head to cast a desperate look at Odin. _Please, I have enough trouble managing one of you._

Odin did not seem currently inclined to read Leo’s mind, however, instead merely watching his daughter with indulgent eyes.

“Daddy says,” Ophelia continued, entirely undaunted, “that you are a master of murderous shrubbery.”

“Ah,” Leo said again. “Something like that.” How _did_ one converse with children? His only real experience with them consisted of Elise’s toddlerhood, and he’d still been a child himself then.

“And that you’re a great sorcerer,” Ophelia said.

“I suppose.”

“But do you know—” Ophelia turned a beseeching look his way, “where I can find a holy moonstone? I have been looking for one.”

“Ah,” Leo said once more. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh,” said Ophelia, her disappointment palpable. However, she perked back up again immediately. “What about a—”

“Ophelia,” Odin finally interjected. “Remember how I told you that Lord Leo is very busy?”

“Oh,” she said again, just as disappointed as before. “But I have questions for him.”

“Another time, tiny heroine.” With that, he held out a hand that Ophelia reluctantly took. “I’ll be back in a moment, milord,” Odin added in an undertone.

Leo had to clear his throat before he could speak, and his measured “Of course,” didn’t come out quite as smoothly as he’d hoped. “I’ll be in the hallway.”

Odin nodded, then ducked at the doorway, presumably to return Ophelia to whatever adult supervision was typical for this part of the day. That _was_ the entire purpose for the servants’ creche in the first place, though Leo himself had never had any need to interact with it. He could hardly imagine Niles fathering a child, after all—at least not intentionally.

Odin didn’t keep him waiting, at least, reappearing momentarily with a flourished bow. “Lord Leo! My undivided attention returns to you once more.”

“Yes,” said Leo, turning back down the hallway with the clear expectation his retainer would follow. “I’ve received word from Duke Wilhelm regarding certain developments I need not elaborate on now. I still need to clear the trip with my father, but we will make haste as soon as he allows it.”

“Ah,” said Odin, though not quite with his usual enthusiasm. “More grand intrigue from our legendary Duke-ish friend?”

“‘Duke-ish’ is not a word,” Leo said with a roll of his eyes. “Your daughter seems to have a better grasp of vocabulary than you do.”

Odin, astonishingly, did not have an immediate and flamboyant retort for that. When Leo glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his expression seemed to hold the faintest hint of… disappointment?

“She seems to be… a very bright young girl,” Leo managed after a moment, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck.

“She is,” Odin said, without a drop of anything but utter sincerity in his voice, “the brilliant light upon which my entire life hangs its orbit.”

Leo’s breath caught slightly at that—he’d hardly expected Odin, of all people, to speak such words with that much candor. “Then she is very lucky,” the prince said, keeping his gaze firmly fixed ahead.

And then Leo added something dreadfully stupid.

“As is her mother, I’m sure.”

Leo’s mistake was evident when it took Odin half a staircase to answer.

“Her mother died when she was four months old,” he finally whispered. “And I have spent the better part of the last four years ensuring Ophelia never knows she has half the love in the life she ought to.”

Leo pulled up short—how in the name of all gods was he supposed to answer that? Odin paused a step above him, glancing back down, the sudden height difference abruptly uncanny—usually they were near eye-to-eye with the slight advantage to the still-growing Leo.

“I’m sorry, Odin,” he finally managed. “I shouldn’t have said.” He of all people ought to have known better—had he not just chided Odin for that same sort of prying when they’d been in Cheve a few months back?

Once again, Odin didn’t answer immediately, instead giving Leo a long, evaluating look before he softly added, “You remind me of her, milord.”

A beat. “Do I?”

“She was,” Odin said, with an odd hint of reverence in his voice, “among the ranks of the greatest sorcerers I have ever met. It was she, in fact, who led me down the path of the eldritch art myself. I believe you might have been her equal, had you ever met on the battlefield.” Another moment passed while Leo tried to parse the grief in Odin’s words from the flattery. Then, with a sigh, “If you had ever met on even terms, that is. Which, if she had had any inkling of your skill, she would have never allowed.”

The last was said with a wry sort of half-smile that again made Leo’s breath catch. “How do you mean?”

“Robin was also a master tactician,” said Odin. “One who never needed to even so much as laugh in the face of impossible odds… She would have found another way to best you if skill had not been in her favor.” Odin turned away once more, heading for the top of the staircase, and all at once their roles had switched—he was leading, now, and Leo was the one following. “The Shepherds never lost a soldier under her command.”

They had reached the next floor when Leo dared speak again, though he didn’t bother to inquire on just what the ‘Shepherds’ were. “You don’t have to answer, Odin,” he began, “but might I ask what happened?”

“There was a war,” Odin said in a voice that made him sound older than years—although, how old _was_ Odin for him to have a daughter Ophelia’s age? Older than Leo had first guessed, surely. Xander’s age, perhaps? That was an odd thought. “A great war, between an army of light and the forces of impossible darkness. The very fate of mankind hung in the balance of one single battle between good and evil. And the only way for good to triumph… was for my wife to sacrifice herself.”

That alone was hard enough for Leo to wrap his head around. He grew more sure by the day that Nohr and Hoshido would go to war within his lifetime—unless his life happened to be abruptly and tragically cut short in the very near future—but that would hardly be some grand, ultimate battle of good versus evil. Nohr would fight for her interests, just as Hoshido would for hers, and the conflict was as likely to end in a bitter, hollow stalemate as anything else. Perhaps he could chalk it up once more to merely being Odin’s perpetual exaggerations, but on the other hand…

“And you won?” Leo finally whispered.

“And we won,” Odin replied. “If one could call such a price a victory.”

Once more, Leo stopped, though he at least managed to mitigate his abruptness enough for his companion to keep time with him. “I’m sorry, Odin,” he said.

“It’s hardly your fault, milord,” Odin replied, his tone still strangely subdued compared to his normal chatter. “Particularly considering you would have been, I imagine, all but fourteen, and you happen to reside in a different—” He broke off abruptly, then finished, “Country.”

“Still,” said Leo, hoping he could find comfort in his words’ ever-present formality, “I can hardly refrain from offering my sympathies. And,” he said, though the addition came haltingly from his lips, “if there is anything your daughter happens to require, be it more of your time or otherwise, then please do not hesitate to inform me.”

Odin tilted his head slightly, regarding Leo, then replied, “Thank you, milord.”

Leo glanced away, clearing his throat again. “Anyway,” he said. “I won’t take any more of your time, Odin.”

Odin tilted his head even more. “I thought I had to pack, milord?”

“Ah,” said Leo, hoping to hide the fact he’d somehow managed to genuinely forget that fact in the last few minutes. “Well, yes, but I don’t mean to take up any more of your afternoon. We won’t be leaving until morning, of course, so as long as you’re ready by then I hardly have reason to complain. You’re dismissed.”

Odin once more seemed to regard his liege for a moment, then offered a bow and quietly repeated, “Thank you, milord.” With that, he turned on his heel and descended the staircase they’d just come up.

Leo watched until his retainer was out of sight and tried to ignore the sinking, tugging feeling in his gut.

~~~

“Niles,” Leo said, a long moment after his bedroom door had clicked shut behind him. “I think I’ve just made a _complete_ ass out of myself.”

Niles glanced up once more from his sewing, giving Leo a long look before replying, “No, milord, as far as I can see your ass is taking up as much of you as usual.” He lifted a brow. “Which is to say, with all due respect, not all that much.”

Leo didn’t bother to answer that, though he did let an absent thought of _My windows_ are _getting rather dirty_ run through his head. “Odin,” he said quietly, “is a father.”

“Yes, milord. I had gathered you knew this already, though evidently it came as something of a shock. Haven’t we had this conversation already?”

“A _single_ father,” Leo clarified. “And I’ve been running him around on fictitious missions without a care for his time, his health, or quite frankly his _life,_ entirely unaware of this fact—”

“And your current treatment of him is somehow less acceptable knowing that he has attachments outside of you…?” Niles asked, setting his sewing aside.

His words struck true, leaving Leo resisting the urge to wince. “And apparently,” he added, “I happen to remind him of his _dead wife.”_

“Huh,” said Niles. “Interesting, but not an answer to my question.”

Leo sank into the second armchair with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damn you, Niles,” he muttered. “Isn’t your job to keep me from making terrible decisions?”

“I thought my job was to clean up after your terrible decisions, milord.”

“Well add it to your list of daily duties, will you?” Leo said. Then, with a sigh, he continued, “All right. No more impossible missions for Odin, then. I suppose he has proved himself at least mostly trustworthy over these past few months, anyway.” When Niles shot him a wordless, evaluating look, he finally continued in a clipped tone, “What?”

“Lord Leo,” said Niles gravely, “it’s not often I get to see you enjoy a nice, fat slice of humble pie. Let me savor the moment.”

~~~

“Laslow!”

“Buh?” Laslow managed, jerking from his doze and nearly falling off his bed in the process. It was a rare day indeed that Xander let him off before dinner, and he’d been thick in debating the merits of skipping the evening meal entirely in favor of the extra sleep when his cousin’s voice came.

“Laaaaaslooooow,” Odin called again, to the grumbling consternation of the room’s occupant.

_“What?”_

Odin, seemingly oblivious to Laslow’s foul mood, merely grinned. “Can’t you hear it? It sings its thunderous tune against the vaulted castle roof as we speak!”

“If you’re going to go on another rant,” Laslow began, “about ‘dark spirits calling, meneh meneh’ I am going to have to—”

“Laslow!”

“What?”

“It’s _raining!”_

A very long moment passed. “You did _not_ come here just to tell me that,” Laslow said.

Odin huffed. “Do you not realize what this gift from the heavens _means?”_

“Bad things for any crops left on the ground right now?” Laslow replied dryly, quirking a brow.

“I should have known you would not be in tune with the depths of divine intervention the skies have graced upon our day. So let me enlighten you, Laslow of the Azure Skies! We have been given the opportunity to step forward in your training, to no longer hide in the shadows of the night whilst you learn to control your newfound powers. For with this dreary shift of weather, no one will notice your leaking issues!”

A long moment passed.

“I,” said Laslow, “do not _leak.”_

“You most certainly do,” Odin retorted. “You leaked all over me.”

“You are,” Laslow said without missing a beat, “without a doubt the worst person I have ever met.”

“No I’m not,” Odin replied.

Laslow rolled his eyes, though he did retreat from the doorway to retrieve his boots. Despite the manner of Odin’s retrieval, he was right—Laslow _did_ need to be able to train out in the open, and the rain provided ample cover for any potential mistakes. Just because he was getting _better_ at keeping his dancer magic under wraps didn’t mean he was perfect yet. “It shouldn’t surprise me to know you’re as childish as ever,” he said. “Though I might remind you you’re not getting any younger, my friend.”

“Fie and vexations upon you!” Odin retorted, pointing a finger at Laslow. “I am no child! I am a conjurer of… conjurings!” At Laslow’s snicker, he paused. “Er, wait. No. That isn’t right. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “You’d best watch your tone. I prey upon fools’ blood, and you’ve an overabundance.” Then, with a grin, he pressed his knuckles to his mouth and whispered, _“Nailed it!”_

Laslow paused, schooling his expression into something suitably puzzled before glancing over his shoulder. “Ah,” he said. “You seem to have looked too far to the left, my friend, and caught sight of my mirror. I’m quite sure you’re referring to your own reflection rather than myself.”

Odin shot him a glance that could curdle milk. “You will regret those words, my friend. Prepare yourself for the void!”

~~~

By nightfall, the rain fell so thickly in the air it was more fog than anything, leaving the castle’s training grounds empty but for three figures. A mage was tossing cantrips at a quickly dodging swordsman, but it was the third figure’s unmistakable stature Leo aimed for.

“Xander?”

The crown prince turned and Leo resisted the urge to wince—though Xander was armed with only a wooden sword, the training dummy that was his target seemed to be on the verge of meeting a most unfortunate end. “Leo. I hardly expect to see you here at such an hour.”

“I’ve an inquiry to make of you,” Leo said. “You’ve heard I’m to make for Diabola again, I’m sure.”

“I have,” said Xander.

A shout from the dueling pair sounded before Leo could continue, leaving the second prince to send them an odd look and lift his lantern, valiantly sputtering against the damp night. “Is that Laslow and Odin?”

“Indeed,” Xander said. “I was quite surprised to see them both training after hours.”

“As am I,” Leo said, just as Laslow managed a striking disarm on Odin’s tome. No sooner did Laslow start to laugh his victory, however, did Odin duck sideways toward the fence, coming back up armed with a practice blade that matched Laslow’s. As quickly as Leo could blink, they clashed again, with hardly a sign that Odin had just changed weapons in the middle of the fight.

And fight they did—flashily, over-the-top, plainly toying with each other. They moved so quickly that Leo could scarcely tell who had the upper hand in the meager lighting, the brilliantly unchoreographed dance of two warriors who _knew_ each other inside and out.

“I didn’t realize Odin was a swordsman,” Xander mused after a moment.

“I didn’t either,” Leo admitted, his eyes narrowing. _Keeping plenty of secrets, are we, Odin?_

It seemed Odin was a _very good_ swordsman, at that—the fight eventually ended in his victory, leaving Leo only remembering a lock of Xander’s hair pinched in his fingers and how equally _very good_ Laslow was. Just _who,_ Leo could only wonder again, where these three retainers that had been dropped into their laps?

Just as Laslow made an irritated face and directed a none-too-gentle shove towards his sparring partner, Xander spoke again. “Just what was it you needed, Leo?”

“Ah,” said Leo, returning to himself. “Funnily enough, it’s to do with Laslow.” He shot his brother an appraising glance, then finished, “I could use an extra set of hands in Diabola. I was wondering if I could borrow him for a few days.”

Xander quirked a brow. “There are plenty of other soldiers you could bring from the palace without robbing me of my retainer,” he pointed out.

“Yes, that’s true,” Leo admitted. “But I have other motivations.” He paused to weigh his words. “Laslow often seems to… clash with you.”

“Laslow needs to come to terms with his newfound station,” Xander said with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

“I won’t deny that. However, we still know so little about the three of them… Even Niles has had trouble digging up anything on their pasts. It worries me. I was curious to see if Laslow might be a little more receptive to me when you’re not around. Odin and Selena often seem to defer to him anyway, so I thought him our best well of information. Especially with Selena tending to be so prickly and Odin being…” Leo sighed. “Odin.”

Xander seemed to weigh the idea for a long moment. “It doesn’t seem to be an altogether unfounded plan,” he said. “Laslow _may_ be more willing to speak with you, considering both your slightly lower station and the fact that you are not his liege. And I agree that their appearance here still merits investigation. Very well, Leo; take him along and I’ll manage with Silas. When do you expect to be back?”

Admittedly, Leo hemmed a moment before he answered. “I’m certain I’ll miss your birthday, unless Duke Wilhelm sees it fit to send me back home after an hour. I’ll be back in time for Corrin’s, though.” He shrugged. “I am sorry for that, but it seems unavoidable—”

“It’s quite all right, Leo,” Xander said. “I’m hardly at the age where I require the world’s undivided attention on the day of my birth. Your duty to the realm is far more important.” The faintest of indulgent smiles crossed his features. “I’m not sure our little princess could be convinced to say the same, though.”

“I won’t miss Corrin’s,” Leo promised. “I’ll go speak to Laslow, then. Good night, Xander.”

“Good night, Leo,” Xander answered, and returned once more to his much-abused training dummy.

Leo shook his head and strode across the training ground, switching his lantern to his other hand so he could warm the one that had been holding it in his cloak. Laslow and Odin had evidently decided to take a break, judging by how the former was leaning on his practice sword and the latter had propped himself up on the fence.

“...getting better at channeling it, I’d say,” Odin was saying. “You nearly had me a couple of times there, and I—Lord Leo!”

Laslow whipped around, his expression a brief mix of something like guilt and terror before he seemed to forcibly school it. “Lord Leo,” he echoed, though his tone was less surprised than Odin’s. “How are you on this fine evening?”

“I’m not sure I’d call it ‘fine,’” Leo said dryly.

“Why, it’s all in your perspective,” Laslow said lightly. “For instance, you’ve just found yourself in some exceedingly pleasant company! And Odin, of course.”

Odin lifted his wooden blade. “Rescind that, dear cousin.”

“Nah,” Laslow replied. “Anyways, did you need something, Lord Leo?”

“I did, as a matter of fact. I just spoke with Xander. You’ll be joining us when we leave for Diabola tomorrow, Laslow.”

Laslow paused. “Really? What for?”

“Duke Wilhelm has been rather cryptic about the most recent developments in Diabola,” Leo said, “but the overall impression he gave distresses me. I’d prefer to take an extra man I may not need than be lacking one I do.”

After a moment, Laslow exchanged a glance with Odin, then shrugged. “Well, so long as Lord Xander approves, sounds like a lark,” he said. “When do we leave?”

“If we depart Krakenburg at dawn we ought to make the second east-bound ferry of the day,” said Leo.

Laslow’s expression fell. “Fie, and here I thought I’d get to sleep in for once.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid,” Leo replied dryly. He, too, shot a look at Odin, musing that his own retainer’s subdued mood from that afternoon hadn’t faded yet. “Is that clear, Odin?”

Odin straightened, waving his sword in a fashion that would’ve had Leo stepping out of range had he not witnessed such a display of skill a few minutes ago. “Of course, my dark liege! I shall greet you with morning’s first rays of light tomorrow!”

“And coffee,” said Leo. “Greet me with coffee as well. For me, not for you,” he added at Laslow’s dubious look. “I’ve learned that lesson, thank you.”

“I coulda told you that,” said Laslow. Leo shot him an appraising look, thinking his idea might have been as on point as he’d hoped. Laslow _did_ seem to be more inclined to drop the formalities with Leo than he was with Xander.

“With that settled, I’ll bid you both good night, then,” said Leo. With their chorus of farewells, he took his leave.

If ‘taking his leave’ meant dousing his lantern and lingering just within earshot, that was.

For a moment, he heard nothing and wondered if he’d gone too far. Finally, though, there came the soft whip of a wooden blade through the air, followed by a quiet, “Heh. It really has been a while. Feels just like old times, huh? It’s as though we’ve gone back in time.”

“Yeah,” Laslow answered. “It really does feel that way…” Then, wistfully, he added, “I wonder where everyone is? All our old friends, I mean…”

“Probably having a bunch of feasts and fun forgetting all about us,” Odin said dryly. When a long silence dragged out, though, his voice turned into something both apologetic and bright. “I’m joking! It’s a joke! You’ve got to learn to relax more, dear cousin. Now, come on! For tonight is a special night… for tonight you learn what ‘wrath’ means! I unveil to you the forbidden tome: Genealogy of the Infinite Pain! It’ll hurt so bad, your grandchildren will be wincing years after your death!”

It took another second for Laslow to answer, though he sounded far cheerier than he had a moment ago. “I see. Then I suppose it is time to stop kidding around. I will unveil a secret dueling form, derived from the ancient scrolls of the masters. I give you the Sacred Dance of the Mystic Blade!”

“No… can it be?”

“Yes! Bow before the Sacred Dance of the Mystic Blade!”

“So…” said Odin. “I see you’ve come to understand the importance of secret techniques.”

“Verily!” Laslow said, a smirk audible in his words. “I learned it from the teaching of the sage Hyoo-Moring Yor Frends.”

“Very good! I expect no less from Laslow of the Azure Skies!”

With that, Leo decided he’d heard more than enough for one day, and silently made his way back to the castle.


	22. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigations continue with a new investigator.

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—October 23, 635**

Leo had learned one thing very quickly over the last three days.

Laslow and Odin, when in proximity and without discipline, _did not shut up._

“...so he comes back around the corner,” Laslow was saying to a deeply amused Niles, “and says, and I quote: ‘Guess what! I’m not sick! I’m engaged!’”

“And then you spit tea on me!” Odin cried, his voice rising with every word.

“You probably deserved it,” Niles said with a familiar smirk.

 _“Thank_ you!” Laslow said. He shot Odin a grin as the other grumbled unintelligibly. “Now, allow me to regale you with the tale of when he learned he was to be a father—”

“No!” Odin whined.

 _“Yes!”_ Niles said.

“Another time, you three,” Leo interjected as Tuefell’s front gates rose into view on the horizon.

Niles and Laslow both gave put-upon sighs at that, while Odin sulked, “Laslow speaks very freely for a man who ought to know I have as many _interesting stories_ about him as he does about me.”

“Oh, but the ones about you are so much more interesting than the ones about me,” Laslow said.

“I beg to differ,” Odin replied.

“Well, we’ll just have to hear both, then,” Niles said. “For comparison.”

“Has anyone ever told you two,” Leo asked, “that you both talk entirely too much?”

“Oh, all the time,” Laslow answered breezily. “Odin especially. He talks in his sleep. Sometimes, if he’s _really_ tired, he’ll _spellcast_ in his sleep.” His easy teasing abruptly faded into something more somber. “Robin used to stuff handkerchiefs in his mouth when he did that…”

Leo perked up a little at that mention—apparently, Odin has made it common knowledge that Leo was aware of just who Robin had been now, but the casualness with which her name had been dropped into the conversation surprised him.

Odin, meanwhile, shuddered. “Once it was a _sock,”_ he said with abject disgust. “I fear that there are some nights I can still taste it.”

Niles burst into laughter again while Laslow’s lips turned up into another smirk. “Yes, but if I remember this tale correctly, she _was_ eight months pregnant at the time and I can hardly find it in myself to blame her,” said the latter.

“Or pity me, either,” Odin said, sticking his tongue out as if he still had an echo of the taste.

“That woman,” Leo said, “must have been an absolute _saint.”_

A long moment stretched out before Odin answered. “Yes. She was.”

Leo felt himself flush as he rued he’d stuck his foot in his mouth _again_ regarding Odin’s late wife and was thankfully saved from answering as Tuefell’s gates swung open for them.

As with every other time Leo had visited Diabola that year, Wilhelm waited to greet them at the gate. Unlike every other time Leo had visited, the duke looked a little rough around the edges—his wine-red cloak was wrinkled and his beard looked to be a few days overdue for a trim. “Your Highness,” he greeted, his tone carrying an uncharacteristic note of fatigue.

“Your Grace,” Leo returned, swinging from Hati’s back and hearing the creak of leather behind him as the three retainers did the same. “I hope my response proved sufficiently expeditious for you.”

“Of course,” said Wilhelm. “I could have hardly asked for you to come any faster.”

Leo nodded. The Tiefgrund’s ferry system, as arduous as it usually felt, truly was the only way to get from Windmire to Diabola except by air. Though the distance between them was relatively short as the raven flew, middle Nohr was covered by some of the harshest, least inhabited mountains in the country; the only way to truly avoid them was to detour as far south as Fort Dragonfall, which in itself almost tripled the distance and made the entire exercise fruitless. Even wyvern was a risky way to make the journey, without a safe place to stop over said mountains and with the treacherous weather that often clung to their peaks.

“Please, take your time to settle,” Wilhelm said, gesturing back to the castle proper. “Dinner will be at eight-thirty.”

“I look forward to it,” Leo said demurely, about to lead Hati on when Wilhelm glanced back over the prince’s shoulder.

“I should like to extend the invitation to your retainers, as well, if you have no objections.”

Leo raised his brow at the unusual request, thinking for a moment before he answered. Niles had spent enough time in Leo’s circles to avoid embarrassing himself at such functions, but he doubted Odin and Laslow would be nearly as familiar with such etiquette. Then again, of all the nobles on the continent Wilhelm was high on the last of them that wouldn’t care much about a faux pas, surpassed perhaps by only Archduke Izana of Izumo. “Very well,” Leo acquiesced. “We’ll meet you then.”

“Of course,” Wilhelm said before his expression warmed slightly. “It’s good to see you again, Niles, Laslow, Odin.”

“Likewise, Your Grace,” Laslow returned brightly. “We appreciate your continued hospitality.”

 _Huh,_ Leo thought. _Maybe Laslow IS picking up a thing or two from Xander._ He urged Hati forward toward the stables, pretending not to notice his mount’s flicked ears and the suspiciously _stompy_ note to his steps. _Hati_ was never particularly fond of the ferry either, and Leo had the sinking feeling he’d need to wake up early and give the stallion a long ride or at least a swift lunge in the morning if Wilhelm needed them to travel anywhere.

Thankfully, Hati didn’t deign to take a chunk out of Leo’s flesh while the prince stripped him, which meant he could beat a hasty retreat with both his skin and his pride intact. He had to shortly press himself against the wall, though, as a young woman came down the aisle with a horse in each hand.

It was the horses Leo noticed first, of course—the one in her right hand was long-strided and elegant, a bright chestnut so clean he suspected the only reason its hide didn’t actively gleam was its winter coat coming in. Built rather like Hati, really, if perhaps a hand or so shorter; a noble’s horse, undoubtedly. The horse in her left was smaller and stockier, a light fleabitten gray that would undoubtedly be a nightmare to keep clean, a mount that seemed suited for a knight of middling birth rather than a blueblood’s steed.

It was only after they’d passed by Leo and he was staring at the woman’s back—and her head of scarcely-tamed ginger curls—that familiarity kicked in.

“Lady Gisela?”

Evidently her recognition had come a little faster than his, judging by the half-smirk that tipped her lips almost as soon as she turned back. “Your Highness,” she returned.

Leo paused, parsing through his thoughts for a moment before settling on, “I didn’t realize you had returned to Diabola.”

A look of disgruntlement crossed her features just long enough for him to spot it. “Only just this week,” Gisela said in a guarded tone.

“I see,” Leo said, then offered, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she returned, then had her attention drawn away as the gray horse attempted to lean over the nearest stall and snatch some hay from its occupant—Laslow’s Scottie, by the look of it, who seemed rather miffed at the intrusion. “I have to finish with these two,” she said, chiding the wayward mount. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Indeed,” Leo said, watching after her until she’d disappeared around the corner.

Laslow himself took that moment to poke his head out of the stall, sending Leo a pointed glance before asking, “Who’s she, then?”

“Duke Wilhelm’s daughter,” Leo answered absently.

Laslow’s brows raised. “I didn’t know His Grace _had_ children.”

“Just her. She doesn’t… come home very often,” Leo said. “Or...ever, really, as far as I know. Not since she became a squire.” Now that he thought of it, Gisela was the same age as he was—she was likely due to be knighted this year as well, barring unusual circumstances. Her arrival _did_ explain why Wilhelm had looked so out of sorts, though. “She and I were something of friends before that, though.”

“Old friend, huh?” Laslow asked, strolling out of the stall with all nonchalance. “Or old flame?”

Leo rolled his eyes, momentarily thanking the fact that Odin and Niles had found their mounts in different aisles of the stable. “I do believe I was twelve the last time we saw each other.”

“Damn, your track record’s better than mine,” Laslow said without missing a beat. “And I would have you know I was very charming at twelve.”

Leo answered that with a very long, very deadpan stare before finally saying, “Laslow, I would remind you that you are under my authority for this trip, and I’ll not hear of you making any untoward advances toward Lady Gisela.”

“Untoward?” Laslow asked, sounding suitably offended even as his smile never dropped. “Why, Lord Leo, my advances are never _untoward!_ ...Often _unwanted,_ but that’s a different matter entirely.”

Leo sighed again as Odin and Niles came around the corner. “Tell me, Laslow,” said the prince. “Do you know how to travel in time?”

Laslow’s eyes went startlingly wide, an odd sort of squeak escaping him before he managed, “Ah… why do you ask, milord?”

“Because I should like to go back and smack myself for having the idea to bring you along,” Leo told him loftily, inclining his head in a gesture that told the other three to follow.

Laslow exchanged a glance with Odin, then let out a strangely nervous laugh. “Ah… of course… and here I thought you were asking me about the actual logistics of time travel… which is a ridiculous concept, of course.”

Leo shot him one final look over his shoulder, wondered if _weirdness_ has passed genetically through Laslow and Odin’s family line, then strode on ahead with a flippant, “Obviously.”

~~~

Diabola’s great hall was plainly fit for a duke, perhaps even for a king—its high, vaulted ceilings left Leo feeling quite small, and the room seemed cavernous even with the six of them and the assorted servants in it. He wondered, seated at Wilhelm’s right hand, if the duke often dined alone in his castle, and how much lonelier that had to be.

No one spoke much beyond pleasantries until the tailing end of the first course—a beetroot soup—and even that seemed awkward. Gisela, seated across from Leo, did not seem inclined to directly answer anything her father said, while Wilhelm seemed all too eager to jump in after anything his daughter spoke. Finally, though, they reached a lull, leaving Wilhelm to say, “I suppose you wish to know why I asked you here, Lord Leo.”

“Considering your usual reasoning, I have a general idea,” Leo said. “Though I would appreciate the specifics, yes.”

Wilhelm nodded. “We’ve noticed for a good few months now that the Faceless attacks seem to be more concentrated in the north,” he began. “They were random enough, though, that we couldn’t pinpoint any further than that. Two weeks ago, though, there was an assault on Fort Harwood.”

Leo raised a brow. “That’s even farther north,” he said. “Not even in Diabola anymore.”

“Indeed,” said Wilhelm. He gave a pointed look at Gisela, who met it indifferently for a moment before chiming in.

“Dame Kora and I have been stationed in Fort Harwood for the last two years,” she said, and Leo silently thanked the mention of the knight Gisela had squired herself to—he’d been wracking his brain for her name for the entire evening to no avail. “The force that attacked us wasn’t huge, but it was too large to be a few nomads that had found their way out of Diabola. We made our way south, after, to see if we could find out whether they had come up from their usual grounds or if they’d been summoned nearer to us. But it’s been a wet fall, not a cold one; we had to ford the Tiefgrund further west than usual. Serendipitously—or not, depending on how one looks at it—we stumbled into another nest of Faceless.” Gisela drew in a breath, her knuckles flexing briefly white around the handle of her knife. “The mage we had with us was nearly bowled over from the sheer amount of magic in the vicinity. It seems as though we’ve found the source of these creatures.”

Leo tilted his head. “Serendipitous indeed,” he murmured, trying to draw up a mental map of the area she spoke of. He knew where the usual ford point she spoke of was, but not how far west they’d had to go nor how far south they had made it after that. “Just where was this, exactly?”

A very long moment passed in suspicious silence. “The remains of Ellyon,” Gisela finally answered.

Leo let out a sharp exhale, setting his spoon down with a marginally impolite clank. _“Ellyon,”_ he repeated. “Well, that explains why no one’s stumbled upon it yet.”

The four native Nohrians all gave some combination of small hums and knowing nods, while Laslow and Odin exchanged baffled glances in the silence. “Explain for the non-locals?” the former ventured. “We seem to be missing something here.”

“Ellyon’s haunted,” Niles piped up cheerfully.

Leo rolled his eyes. “Or so the story goes. People like to come up with a great deal of explanations for things such as the like which happened in Ellyon, and not all of them tend toward rationality.”

“Things?” Odin asked, perking up. He’d been remarkably quiet during the dinner so far—and remarkably at _ease_ for such a formal occasion. So had Laslow. Leo had been keeping half an eye on them and he hadn’t so far seen either one of them so much as twitch over the wrong fork. Perhaps the Nohrian royal family _wasn’t_ their first introduction to nobility, a thought which only raised more questions than it answered. “What sorts of _things?”_

“Ellyon is quite high in elevation,” Wilhelm began. “And it gets enough snow that it’s almost invariably inaccessible for a good three or four months out of the winter. The people knew how to prepare for it, given it was mostly sheer stubbornness that kept them from relocating somewhere more hospitable. Until one year, back in the spring of 569, the usual merchants’ caravan came through after the spring thaw.” Wilhelm paused. “And found the entire city dead.”

“Were they attacked?” Odin ventured to guess.

Wilhelm shook his head. “No signs of such.”

“Plague?” Laslow offered.

“That is the generally accepted theory, yes,” Leo said. “It is _possible_ that some sickness with a one hundred percent mortality rate could have manifested early enough in the winter to wipe out the entire population and drive itself back into extinction before it could find any more hosts. However _unlikely_ the idea.” He shrugged. “The alternative is some form of magical attack that would have to have been so powerful as to venture into the realm of utterly _fantastical,_ which may fit the evidence marginally better but has been generally deemed to be even more unlikely. As such, despite the theories, the mystery of Ellyon has never been solved to any sort of satisfaction, and no one has maintained it as a permanent residence for the last sixty-odd years.”

“And while Lord Leo has put forth the two most likely ideas, plenty more of the less logical sort have sprung up over the time,” Wilhelm continued. “Some believe, as Niles said, that the city is haunted. Others believe that Ellyon committed some transgression so great that they brought down the ire of the Dusk Dragon himself. Point is, it’s a way off the major trade routes and few venture that way for any reason; it _would_ be the perfect place to set up the web of dark magic required to maintain these Faceless.”

“And you want me to come investigate before it’s snowed off for the winter,” Leo finished.

“I’m not sure how much the freeze would slow _them_ down,” Wilhelm admitted. “Faceless are rather more hardy than we are in such circumstances. I dread to think of what else they might manage during the months we have no recourse against them.”

Leo paused for a long moment. “That’s quite the favor you ask of me.”

“I did attempt to contact an old associate of mine,” Wilhelm admitted, “but she is… difficult to get ahold of at the best of times, and I haven’t gotten a response.”

“And that would be…?” Leo asked.

“The sorceress Nyx.”

Leo shook his head. “I’ve never heard of her.” _Which doesn’t speak well of her abilities; it’s likely for the best he asked me._

“No,” said Wilhelm, his tone oddly dry. “That’s not surprising.”

Leo decided that had to be some sort of inside joke he was missing and didn’t bother trying to figure out what it was. “I have to be back in Windmire by the thirty-first at the very latest,” he said, his vow of _I won’t miss Corrin’s_ ringing in his ears. “But that ought to be plenty of time for at least a surface investigation and a plan of action from there.” He glanced at Gisela. “Will Dame Kora be joining us?”

Gisela did not make eye contact. “Dame Kora was badly injured when we discovered the issue in Ellyon,” she said tightly. “She’s recovering here.”

“Ah,” said Leo. That shouldn’t affect Gisela’s knighthood, at least; she would have turned eighteen a few months before Leo had, which meant her mandatory four years of squirehood were already up even if she had deigned to stay with her knight until the solstice. Then, belatedly, “My apologies.”

“Thank you,” Gisela answered quietly.

Leo nodded, then glanced at three retainers who had fallen mercifully quiet again. “If any of you have reservations about going, I won’t hold it against you,” he said.

“What, and miss all the fun?” Niles asked with a scandalized gasp.

“Abandon my dark liege to face this daring mission alone?” Odin added. “Never!”

Laslow, meanwhile, sighed, then said, “Well, these two would never let me live it down if I refused,” he gestured to Niles and Odin, “so count me in too, I suppose.”

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—October 24, 635**

Leo had risen when stars still glinted in the dawn sky with the sole intent of starting their journey with an amicable mount beneath him. He had, hopefully, accomplished that mission, although Hati had decided flying changes would be much less fun than just _bucking_ and had Leo been any less prepared for the eventuality he likely would’ve been pitched right over his stallion’s head.

Now, at least, he hoped Hati was in a better mood for the day, or at least tired enough to fake one. His hide steamed as Leo dismounted, the metal of the bit and stirrups clanking as Hati shook himself out. Leo had expected that, though, and threw the fleece cooler he’d left on the fence over his mount’s back to wick away the sweat before the air left him chilled.

The castle was a fair bit busier than when he’d left the stables; they were bringing three dozen soldiers with them, a much larger force than the one of Kora and Gisela that had been overwhelmed. Leo steered Hati away from the majority of the activity and into one of the courtyards beside the stable, only to be swiftly interrupted by an amused voice.

“Well _he_ was quite keen on putting on a show.”

Leo rolled his eyes, coming back with, “I’m glad you enjoyed, despite the fact it was less intended as a show for you and more as a punishment for me.” He glanced over with the faintest of smirks and offered, “Lady Gisela.”

“Your Highness,” she returned with a mirroring expression. She had the chestnut he’d seen her with yesterday in hand, grazing off the assorted weeds that were springing up through the flagstones. Leo would have to guess it was a gelding, judging by Hati’s rather ambivalent reaction rather than prancing and snorts (had it been a mare) or pinned ears and haughty posturing (had it been another stallion). He guessed then that said gelding was likely Gisela’s own; perhaps the other gray she’d had was Dame Kora’s? “Who’s this, then?” she continued, gesturing to Leo’s mount.

“Hati. Also known with varying measures of affections as the Spawn of Hell,” Leo replied dryly. Hati flicked an ear toward him at that, as if to say, _Really?_

Gisela snorted at that and raised a brow. “My, not the same Spawn of Hell you told me about when last we met?”

Leo had to wrack his brain for a moment to pull forth the relevant memory, though when he did he nearly laughed aloud. The last time he’d seen Gisela _had_ been shortly after he’d started riding Hati—would’ve been New Year’s Eve 629, he thought—and he _did_ remember vehemently complaining how his instructor wanted him _dead_ but he didn’t plan on leaving the world at the tender age of twelve because some uppity stallion had it out for him. Now that he thought of it, had _horses_ been the one and singular topic they’d ever talked about as children? “One and the same, as a matter of fact. I would say how the mighty have fallen,” he gestured to Hati, “but I’m pretty sure _I’ve_ done most of the falling in this relationship.”

Hati blew out a snort as if to say, _Damn right you have._

“He looked good when he wasn’t fooling around,” Gisela offered. “Losing some bend in the left half-pass though.”

“I know,” Leo sighed. “That’s often what he starts slipping on when he’s been out of work for a few days.”

“It was hard to tell from here, but I think you’re coming up off your left seatbone,” Gisela offered. “Might be the issue.”

Leo nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. “Thank you.” He tilted his head, then asked, “And what of you, then? I’d be glad to return the favor should we have the time.”

“Ah, Dunn’s green still,” she said, giving the chestnut’s neck an absent pat. “No half-pass for us yet. He’s smart, though, and very willing. I took him off the racetrack as a four-year-old.”

 _“Really,”_ Leo said, giving Dunn another critical eye. “I’d have guessed him to be Hati’s half brother if you hadn’t told me that.”

“I hold the private suspicions his dam had an affair with a destrier,” Gisela said with a twinkle of mirth in her eye.

Leo smiled. “A racehorse, though. Huh. So long as you obtained him by legal and ethical means, I suppose.”

Gisela quirked a brow. “Are there other options…?”

“Ask Niles how he acquired his mare some time,” Leo replied deadpan. “Or don’t, you’ll probably be encouraging future behavior.”

Gisela only looked slightly bemused at that, though the clatter of hooves kept her from saying anything else.

“G’morning,” Laslow said brightly, with an entirely too-smug smile on his face. “If I may be so bold as to put forth that milady looks absolutely resplendent this morning?” Laslow did not have the courtesy to respond to Leo’s death glare, while Gisela only managed to turn her bemused look on the philandering retainer. “And perhaps also point out that the rest of our company is nearly ready?”

Gisela paused a moment more, then sent a rueful look toward where Dunn was still only garbed in a halter. “Ah,” she said. “Yes. Let me go tack up.” Dunn took one more mouthful of whatever particularly hardy weed had caught his attention before happy following his mistress out of sight.

A long moment passed.

Laslow opened his mouth only a moment too late to avoid getting cut off by Leo.

“Whatever you’re about to say, Laslow,” the prince muttered, “don’t.”

“Why, Lord Leo!” Laslow exclaimed, sounding suitably offended. “I was only going to helpfully offer my services as a wingman, should you require them.” He followed that with a wink.

Another long moment passed.

“That is very, very high on the list of ‘things I don’t need,’” Leo said flatly. “Possibly just below ‘traumatic brain injury.’”

Laslow only sighed. “Oh, c’mon, though,” he said. “I’ve got to at least rank higher on the list of possibilities than your retainers, though, right?”

“Ranking yourself higher than my own staff?” Leo asked with a quirk of his brow. “Has working for my brother really gone to your head that much of late?”

“As if he’d ever let it,” Laslow grumbled. Then, clearing his throat, “Only in this matter, of course! For starters, I’m not likely to burst into a fit of theatrics regarding dark spirits taking over my mind whilst your lady friend attempts a conversation. Nor am I ever going to bring up… anything and everything that Niles would bring up… ever, actually. In any company.”

“Ah, and there you have your mistake, Laslow,” Leo said, peering under Hati’s cooler and seeming the stallion sufficiently dry to remove it. “Niles knows better than to behave so obnoxiously in my chosen company—note the word ‘chosen,’ he can do as he pleases when said company forces themselves upon me. Otherwise, he is mannered enough to wait for them to depart before giving his… personal input on the conversation.”

“If you say so, milord,” Laslow said dubiously. “But my offer still stands, should you ever decide to take me up on it.”

Leo rolled his eyes, retightened Hati’s girth, and moved to join their gathering company. “And for the record,” he added airily, “‘traumatic brain injury’ ranks only slightly below ‘more sisters.’”

Laslow’s pealing laughter followed him quite persistently through the courtyard of Castle Tuefell.

~~~

**Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 25, 635**

_“...Boo.”_

“Gah!”

“Eep!”

Niles sniggered to himself— _again—_ and didn’t even have the decency to look suitably chastised when Leo turned his gaze on him. “Niles, _honestly,”_ the prince said. “How is that helping?”

“Oh, I’m being _very_ helpful, milord,” Niles replied earnestly. “I’m testing Laslow and Odin’s reflexes.”

“I’ll show _you_ my reflexes,” Laslow grumbled.

“And also,” the thief continued undaunted, “how high their voices can go. For science. You approve of scientific research, don’t you, milord?”

“At most any other time than now, yes,” Leo replied. “But since it is, unfortunately, _now,_ put a _can_ in it, would you?”

Niles sighed. “If you insist, milord, I _suppose.”_

Leo began to say something about he very much _did_ insist, thank you very much, which Laslow only listened to with half an ear before lifting his lantern and deciding he’d boost his meager chances of investigating a little if he could at least manage to ditch Niles.

They’d spent the better part of a day just making it to Ellyon, considering the treacherous ascent to the old city; now, after the sun had dipped down behind the western mountains, it looked as if they’d spent another day within its walls and found themselves none the wiser.

Which didn’t make any sense, really, since Gisela’s company had been attacked well outside of Ellyon’s borders with an overwhelming force; yet from sunup to sundown they had found no evidence of Faceless whatsoever, other than the ominous, suffocating _presence_ of dark magic that hung in the air thick enough to drown a man.

Footsteps followed after Laslow, though they were three crumbling houses down before Odin actually spoke. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” Laslow admitted, peering through a long-broken window into a home that likely hadn’t had a breath taken inside it for nearly seventy years. Deeming it as barren as every other place they’d checked, he moved on. “This place feels like…”

A moment passed so long that Laslow glanced back only to find his cousin casting a furtive look down the old cobbled streets. “The Dragon’s Table?” Odin finally ventured in an undertone.

“I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far,” Laslow admitted. “But something… rather akin to that, yes.” And if _Niles_ tried _one more_ stupid stunt like he’d been playing at all day, Laslow wasn’t sure if he could really be held responsible for what happened, threat of Leo’s wrath or no.

“I just don’t understand where they’re _hiding_ it,” Odin grumbled. “We’ve been through the whole city already, nothing of this magnitude should _be_ that hidden…” He cocked his head, lifting his own torch to peer down an alleyway. “Your Grace?”

Laslow followed Odin’s gaze, ducking between the two close-set houses on their street and coming into a tiny courtyard. A small shrine sat in the center, carved into the city wall with just enough room for perhaps half a dozen people to shelter beneath, and most of that room was taken up with a statue that Laslow could only presume was of the Dusk Dragon. He gave the image as wide of a berth as he could in the narrow space—something of the blood of Naga in him, perhaps, bidding him to be wary of the foreign dragon. Wilhelm was crouched at the back of the shrine, peering down.

“Didn’t see it at first,” the duke muttered. “It’s pretty well-hidden.”

“Ooh,” said Laslow as he finally caught a glimpse of what had taken Wilhelm’s attention. “Trap door?”

Sure enough, just behind the statue was a wooden plate, now wedged open against the back wall. How it hadn’t rotted in the past decades, Laslow couldn’t say, and he couldn’t quite make out what laid beneath the opening now. He _thought_ he could just make out the floor, but it was hard to tell.

“There’s no ladder,” Wilhelm said. “I’ll see if someone’s got a rope, or perhaps Lord Leo can levitate one of us down—”

Odin, who had come around the opposite side of the statue so as not to crowd the other two, took that moment to jump down the hole.

 _“Seriously?”_ Laslow demanded, though he paused long enough so as not to miss his friend’s final keen. When it didn’t come, he called again, “So, are you dead?”

A beat passed. “Yes, indeed, I am dead,” came Odin’s voice, “and the specter of your beloved cousin shall forever haunt your twilight hours—”

“I’m terrified,” Laslow cut in. “See anything useful, oh haunting specter?”

“Maybe, if you’d quiet yourself long enough to let me look.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my _talking_ kept you from _using your eyes to see—”_

The muttered incantation of a Fire spell came from below, illuminating Odin’s upturned and unimpressed expression. He wasn’t far down—it looked as though he had only just enough room to stand under the stone ceiling beneath Laslow’s feet. “I am going to inform Lord Leo that you are hindering my investigation.”

“I _would_ threaten to tell Lord Leo that you have no sense of self-preservation, but I’m pretty sure he’s figured that out already,” Laslow shot back. “And if he hasn’t, gods help the boy.”

Wilhelm seemed to have been quite valiantly attempting to hide his grin, though it faded of its own accord as another set of footsteps joined them. “Something interesting going on…?” came Gisela’s voice just before she appeared in Odin’s vacated spot. She made brief, uncomfortable eye contact with her father for the barest moment, only piquing Laslow’s curiosity again on just _what_ had happened to keep her away from Diabola for so long before she glanced down toward the trembling firelight below. “Oh. That’s a yes, I suppose.”

“Odin jumped,” Laslow said dryly. “The sane people were about to go looking for rope.”

“I heard that,” Odin called. He’d ventured farther, by the sound of it, and a huff came back up into the shrine. “And might you hurry up with that rope? This place rings both auspicious and _sus_ picious and there’s a tunnel that seems—” He paused, yelled out a note, and waited for it to echo back. _“Quite_ long,” he finished.

“Right,” said Gisela. “I’ll be on that.”

“As will I,” Wilhelm said, a little too quickly. “Make sure Odin doesn’t hurt himself, Laslow.”

“I’m not sure even _I’m_ capable of that,” Laslow returned dryly, dropping to lay on his stomach in hopes of getting some better view of the construction below.

Wilhelm returned in two minutes with a rope, which led to Laslow quickly joining his cousin below; Gisela returned in five with Leo and Niles, which led to Laslow offering a sheepish explanation to the prince that Odin was too enthralled to even bother contributing to.

“The sinister miasma grows even stronger at these lower levels!” Odin called when Leo inquired of him directly. “I believe these twisting tunnels will lead us to unlock the mysteries we seek!”

The sound of Leo’s sigh came down from above. “All right, then. There’s no easier way to bring soldiers down there that either you two can see, is there? We’ll have to start sending people down one at a time, I suppose.”

Gisela appeared then, staggering briefly as she hit the dirt. She straightened, dusted herself, and quickly adjusted the spear strapped to her back—slightly too tall for the low ceiling—before eyeing the carved, winding walls with nearly as much interest as Odin had. Wilhelm followed shortly after.

“Yes,” Leo said, his tone rising in exasperation. “Let’s all just jump in the hole, that seems wise.”

“Only Odin jumped,” Laslow corrected. “The rest of us are being sensible and using the rope.”

He couldn’t see Leo’s face, but he got the distinct feeling the prince had rolled his eyes.

“Lord Leo?” Odin called, having paused in front of one of the stone walls. Some smudged symbol, painted in red, had caught his eye. “You might want to come see this?”

Another sigh came from above. “Fine,” said Leo. “I will jump in the hole.”

Niles came first, of course, twirling himself down the rope with a flair like those of the dancers Laslow was _not._ Leo’s voice drifted once more from above, likely to whatever company of soldiers had been nearest the shrine; he himself appeared a moment later, not by the rope but a carefully controlled descent with Brynhildr in hand.

And, as Leo’s boots hit the stone, a very soft _click_ sounded.

Followed by a gust of wind which blew out their torches, and hot on the heels of _that_ an almighty, deafening crash from above.

A wordless shout came from someone the instant they all went _completely_ blind, the meager shaft of light from the trap door winking out of existence—just as another body collided with Laslow’s, too skinny to be anyone but Leo, sending both of them staggering away from the rockfall—

Laslow had the sinking feeling, choking on dust in the pitch dark, that they might have just jumped into their graves.


	23. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Are you scared to see what lies beneath, behind these artificial teeth?  
>  Through the guilty strings this mask controls its wearer  
> Trapped in our own disguises, cut free but soulless still  
> Our dreams are haunted by the ghosts we kill…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we continue on, I have a huge shoutout to make: my oft-mentioned former roommate, who got me into FE and has been a massive, unending source of inspiration for this series, has finally started to share the art she's made, mostly for this universe! You can find her on Instagram under the handle @pejiximon, so go give her a follow!

**Beneath Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 25, 635**

Wilhelm was the first to speak when the earth stopped grinding around them. “Is everyone all right?” His words were shortly followed by a muttered incantation and a flicker of fire in his palm, illuminating his grit-stained face and a cut over his left eyebrow. “Gisela?”

“I’m fine,” Gisela answered sharply, though she was shortly betrayed by another hearty coughing fit. Odin rekindled his own fire spell in the process, absently gesturing for Laslow’s torch; Leo, too, joined them in the light a moment later, though Brynhildr’s glow was a cold violet-white that shone far brighter than the other two flames.

“I think we’re all in one piece?” Laslow ventured, absently checking himself over in a fashion that had become automatic a decade ago. He was fairly sure Leo knocking into him in the chaos had done more damage than the actual incident. A full set of armor _hurt_ when it was directed at someone not inside of it at high speed. “Besides, could be worse, couldn’t it? Considering we’ve got the _only person in the kingdom_ who can use gravity magic down here with us?”

“One would think,” Leo replied dryly, stepping back under the original hole and peering upward toward the stone that had sealed it off. A long moment passed. “Except for the fact that I very highly doubt I can move this.”

“...What?” Laslow said, swallowing back the edge of panic that threatened to rise in his throat. “The day we ran into that Stoneborn I watched you chuck a boulder the size of _my horse_ around, what do you mean you can’t move it?”

“I can’t move it,” Leo repeated, “because I have no idea how big it is. It could be two inches thick or half the mountain could have come down on us. I have to have some _rough_ idea of how much mass I’m trying to move; best case scenario, I use too little force and nothing happens. Worst case, I use too much and I bring the other half of the mountain down on us. I’d _prefer_ not to take that chance until we run out of alternatives.”

“...All right,” Laslow admitted. “That’s fair. Still sticking a pin in it for later, though.”

Leo sighed, brandishing his garish light and stepping away from their former entrance. “It seems whoever deigned to build this trap decided it would be best made Leo-proof.”

“Funny you should say that,” Wilhelm pointed out, “since you ended up being the one to set it off.”

There was no malice in the duke’s words, but Leo met his gaze levelly all the same. “So it seems,” he replied mildly. “Which could mean that I was just so unlucky as to land in exactly the wrong spot that the five of you somehow managed to avoid, or…”

“Lord Leo?” Odin interjected again.

“Can it wait, Odin?” Leo asked, crouching down to peer at the floor.

Odin shook his head. “There’s a rune here on the wall,” he said, having returned to the spot that had led to Leo coming down in the first place. “It might be to do with the trap.”

“Ah,” said Leo, returning to his feet once more and striding to the hand-sized symbol of sickly red emblazoned on the wall. “A blood rune, too. How curious.” A soft string of sibilant syllables escaped him, and with a wave of his hand the wall came alight in a faint glow of strings upon strings of further runes and sigils. _“Very_ curious,” he added.

“So as we should have suspected,” Wilhelm said, coming over himself. “The trap was magic.”

Laslow shot a look at Gisela, who had finally stopped coughing, and she returned his gaze with a shrug and the same sort of ‘over their heads’ expression he was sure he was sporting. Evidently she hadn’t followed in her father’s magely footsteps.

“And not from the time of Ellyon, either,” Leo said, scanning the lines upon lines of glowing sigils. “This can’t have been laid down more than a year ago. Less, probably, if one cares to tie it into the timeline of the beginning of your Faceless plague.”

“Indeed,” said Wilhelm. “It’s a pity we didn’t find this place two months earlier; we might have still been able to identify the mage that cast them.”

Laslow could just catch the forcible schooling of Leo’s features from his angle. “Yes,” the prince said, his tone potently neutral. “A pity.”

“How do you mean that, then?” Laslow asked. “Telling the mage that set them…?”

“Spells like this, that are laid down for later, are like handwriting to an extent,” Wilhelm said. “For a few months they can often be quite personal and distinct to their creator. Those distinctions have faded by now, though…”

Leo sucked in a short breath, returning to the original, visible sigil Odin had first spotted. “And whoever did this,” he said, “did it with the expectation the royal family would eventually become involved.” He glanced up. “My best guess was that the trap was keyed to be set off by the blood of the Dusk Dragon. That’s why _I_ set it off and the five of you didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t they have needed a sample of blood for that, though?” Odin pointed out. Laslow winced slightly—it was easy to forget that his cousin’s endless tales of malevolent villains were backed up by some very real-world knowledge of dark magic.

“Not necessarily,” Leo replied. “That would make it easier, certainly, but it wouldn’t be impossible without. Besides,” he continued dryly, “if one had managed to get their hands on the blood of the royal family, they wouldn’t waste it on _this.”_

“...Okay,” Laslow said after a moment. “So what _would_ they use it on, theoretically?”

Leo gave him a _look_ that the eerie lighting only intensified. “Dragon blood is a powerful thing, Laslow.”

 _You’re telling me._ “Well, yeah,” Laslow said. “Dragon Veins and whatnot.”

“And there’s your answer,” Leo replied.

A beat passed. “Wait,” said Laslow. “You’re saying _your_ blood can give other people the ability to use Dragon Veins? You don’t have to go find some actual dragon to give it to you?”

“Before you get any sinister ideas about slitting me open in my sleep, there _is_ a ritual involved and it must be given _willingly,”_ Leo said. “And it would take some months, if not years, for the ability to develop. But yes, it’s possible; besides, one isn’t likely to find many actual dragons around for the alternative these days.”

 _Right. Actually, about that,_ Laslow thought, supposing that he, Odin, and Selena had gained the ability instantly from the fact they _had_ gotten blood directly from a dragon. He was still reeling from the mere idea, though; he was fairly sure he couldn’t confer the ability to wield Falchion that way, or his family would have figured it out over the last thousand or so years since the first Exalt. Then again, he hadn’t heard anything about Siegfried and Brynhildr _choosing_ their wielders the same way Falchion did; perhaps Nohr’s weapons were less picky than Laslow’s own blade. “Huh,” he finally said. “Here I’d have thought the actual dragon blood would be too diluted by now, after… actually, how old is your family line?”

“Six hundred and thirty-five years,” Leo replied deadpan. “And I can name you no more than a dozen people in that time who have ever been so valued by my ancestors to be bestowed that gift. I’m sure the Hoshidan line has been just as choosy.”

“The Hoshidans are descended from the Dusk Dragon as well?” Odin asked.

“The Hoshidan royal family is descended from the _Dawn_ Dragon,” Leo corrected tartly. “Which is a very important distinction. Important, _unlike_ this conversation.”

No sooner had he spoken that line of wisdom did Laslow and Odin both whip their heads toward the tunnel stretching before them.

“What—” Gisela began, only to break off as Laslow flicked a hand up for silence.

“Faceless,” he said grimly after a moment. “Or at least I’m going to assume. Unfriendly company, at any rate.”

Wilhelm cursed under his breath; Leo’s face flickered with alarm just briefly enough to be seen before Brynhildr’s glow went out. “Douse the lights,” he said. “In case they haven’t seen them yet.”

The rest of the group hastily obliged, though it was shortly followed by a distinctive, rumbling groan from down the tunnel.

 _“Dammit,”_ Leo said. “We haven’t got room to fight them here—” a fact to which Laslow immediately assented, as there was probably only room for one or two Faceless to spill into the room before the six of them ended up too tightly packed together to avoid friendly fire, “which will only be worse if we try to meet them in the tunnel, I can’t seal us off unless we all fancy dying of oxygen deprivation—”

“I can cast without line of sight,” Odin interjected.

“Yes, Odin, that would be _extremely_ helpful if it were actually possible—”

Leo paused.

“Hang on, I’m sorry,” he continued after a beat. “You just said you could _what?”_

“I can cast _one_ spell without line of sight,” Odin hastily amended. “And it’s pretty hit-or-miss, but if I sent a Fire spell down the tunnel I could try to get an idea of where they were and at least take out a few before they got here—it’s better than the current alternatives—”

“The devil kind of a spell lets you do that in the first place?” Wilhelm asked.

“Dark magic,” Laslow said with resignation. “Mire, right?” At Odin’s nod, he shuddered. “It is _not_ fun to be on the other end of.” Aside to Odin, he added, “I didn’t know you knew it.”

“Henry taught me, last time I was in—his area,” Odin hastily finished.

A beat passed, punctuated by another growl and the scrape of heavy feet that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Seven hells, then, go for it, Odin,” Leo said. “You might at least give me a minute to think of something else—”

An arc of fire blazed down the tunnel ahead of them with an alacrity that said Odin hadn’t actually been waiting for permission. It was followed by an enraged roar; then, with another flick of Odin’s fingers and a look of concentration, an anguished death howl chased on its heels.

“By all the dragons,” breathed Wilhelm.

“Oh, good, that worked,” Laslow said dryly. Odin shot him a brief glare.

“Excuse me, I am a professional,” the latter said loftily between spells, though not without a strained note of effort in the words. Another fatal shriek answered from down the tunnel.

“Yes,” said Laslow, “a professional at jumping into dark holes and other utterly foolish endeavors—”

Brynhildr’s glow flickered back to life, illuminating Leo’s newly straightened shoulders and determined gaze. “Keep casting, Odin,” he said, stepping forward and weaving a spell of his own into thick, creeping vines that blocked off the tunnel a few paces down. When it finished, he marched up, peered through the gaps in the leaves, and started on a second the same distance down; when that was done, the first melted once more back into the stones. _Oh,_ Laslow thought as the staggered strategy occurred to him. Quite brilliant, actually. “Stay with him, Laslow, make sure nothing happens back here. The rest of us will push through and meet their force.”

“Don’t get too close!” Odin hurriedly warned as Leo began to repeat the process. “I can’t see where I’m casting, I could hit you by mistake—”

“Duly noted,” Leo replied in a clipped tone. Then, in a timber plainly crafted to inspire nothing less than absolute obedience, “With me.”

 _Not bad,_ Laslow thought; certainly better than he’d been able to manage at Leo’s age. He was fairly sure he hadn’t been able to put that tone of command in his voice until the battle of the Demon’s Ingle. Then again, Leo had grown up with every possible advantage put in front of him, not at the end of humanity itself.

As that thought crossed his mind, another followed it—that Laslow _did_ have a few minutes to think, given that despite his keeping Falchion drawn the only potential avenue of attack was being held by the rest of their company, and it was really for the best for him to not properly disturb Odin.

All of _this,_ he thought to himself wryly, and he was going to get _bored._

Probably for the best, actually, he realized as he rocked on his feet and felt the slow, answering call of a deep ocean current within him. _Not now,_ he internally chided his dancer magic, fighting back a wave of anxiety. He could control it—he _had_ to control it—he’d gotten infinitely better at controlling it with Odin, after all. He could think through it, he wasn’t flinging water around with reckless abandon anymore.

 _Under the lowest stakes possible, when it still takes most of your concentration to keep it all under control,_ an unhelpful voice reminded him.

 _Oh, be positive,_ another voice retorted. _It’s not like Leo and Niles probably top the list of the people most suspicious of you already—oh wait._

 _Thanks a lot,_ Laslow thought to the two voices, letting out a sigh.

“Would you mind,” Odin asked, “not sighing like a lovesick teenage girl? This does take some concentration.”

“Oh, excuse me for worrying about how effective _your_ training is going to prove under actual combat conditions,” Laslow grumbled in return.

 _“My_ training has been perfectly adequate,” Odin returned. “The question is whether you remember how to apply it.”

Laslow didn’t answer that, mainly because he was afraid his cousin’s words had struck far too close to home. A few agonizingly long minutes later, Wilhelm’s voice boomed back through the tunnels. “All clear, boys!”

With a deliberate, achingly slow motion, Odin clapped his tome closed, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes.

“You good?” Laslow asked in a low tone.

“I think,” Odin said, just a little too high. “It’s been a minute… since I’ve done something like that.” He swayed a little on his feet and Laslow didn’t wait for it to get worse, sheathing Falchion and throwing Odin’s arm around his shoulders. “Thanks,” Odin murmured, leaning his head against Laslow’s for a moment before straightening again.

“Don’t mention it,” Laslow said, adjusting himself against his cousin’s weight. “Like, seriously, actually don’t mention it, I’m actively attempting to forget how much of an idiot you’re being at this very moment in time.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” Odin grumbled.

“‘Cept for the fact you’re officially down for the count now,” Laslow shot back.

“Am not,” Odin said, just before tripping on a rock and nearly sending them both sprawling face-first on the tunnel floor. “Am a bit,” he admitted. “But the dark magics dare not claim me long… I will return to full strength momentarily.” A beat passed. “Or soon, at least.” Another beat. “Soonish.”

“I’ll check in in the morning,” Laslow returned dryly as the tunnel opened up before them.

It opened up into a slightly wider tunnel, at least, perpendicular to their current location. The other four of their company picked their way around the force of fallen Faceless, while just beyond a river rushed on through the cave, crashing into a rock which split it in two before it fell into the depths below.

“Are you all right, Odin?” Wilhelm asked with concern, the first to look up at their entrance.

“He’s fine,” Laslow said, taking a left and picking his way over to a spot free of Faceless. “Idjit just overextended himself like some trainee that doesn’t know his limits.”

“I saved the day!” Odin insisted as Laslow propped him against the stone wall and let him slide to the floor. Then, as his eyes went unfocused, he added, “Curse the limits of this mortal form…”

“Indeed you did,” Leo said, his words somehow both completely sincere and dripping with irony. He fiddled with Brynhildr for a moment, then with a wave of his hand began to stack the Faceless corpses in an out-of-the-way pile. “Though I _am_ a bit curious when you were elsewise going to see fit to tell me that dark magic was among your proficiencies.”

“‘M not that proficient,” Odin admitted, wrinkling his brow. “Just a few battle spells, mainly.” He held up his hand and began to number. “Ruin. Waste. Nosferatu, in a pinch. Flux. Mire, as you saw. That’s about it. Just enough knowledge to combat villains of evil without…” He paused, frowning slightly, “without succumbing to such dark arts myself.”

“I see,” said Leo.

“But like I said,” Laslow said, leaning against the cool stone wall with all casualness even as he took in the cave around them. The river upstream came from another waterfall pouring through the ceiling—at their level, the room ended in a solid stone wall, leaving them safe from attack in that direction. Downstream ended in a cliff the other direction where the waterfall was. Across the river… even squinting, Laslow couldn’t quite make out the other bank in their meager lighting. He resolved to keep an eye turned that way. “He’s gonna be out of it for a while. Better let him rest.”

A long moment passed before Leo looked up from Brynhildr. “Yes,” he finally said. “We would have been retiring for the evening were we still above, anyway.” With the last of the Faceless stashed in their pile, he strode back to the rest of the group. “We’ll take a few hours and then move on.” He cast a wary glance across the river, then added in a low tone, “We ought to have a few days of food among us, at least, if we stretch…”

“Oh,” Laslow said cheerily, “I’m sure there’s rats and such down here.”

Leo sent him such a look of horror at the idea that Laslow momentarily remembered not everyone had grown up in the apocalypse. “We are _not,”_ Leo said firmly, “going to be down here long enough we have to resort to eating _rats.”_

“Or we will,” Niles piped up, “and we’ll be the envy of every chef in Krakenburg with our exquisite new rat delicacies.”

Gisela rolled her eyes. “There’s got to be another way out of here anyway,” she pointed out. “There’s no way Faceless armies were coming out the same way we came in.”

“Exactly,” said Laslow. “We’ve just got a bit of exploring ahead of us.”

He sent another look over the river, quietly pondering on the muted sense of _wrong_ that had only grown stronger the deeper the journey went.

~~~

**Beneath Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 26, 635**

Laslow guessed it was somewhere around midnight when he forced himself to stand and stretch. He wasn’t foolhardy enough to sleep in this place, but after a full day of wandering around an abandoned and possibly haunted city, he’d been glad for the rest.

Their company seemed to have taken to a similar mindset, though they’d spread out a little. Wilhelm, Niles, and Laslow were still gathered loosely with Odin, who really was sleeping, while Gisela had gone slightly downstream and Leo was slightly up. It was toward the latter Laslow wandered, his pace unhurried despite the fact the hair on the back of his neck had been standing up since they’d ended up below.

“Here,” he said when he reached Leo, extending a portion of jerky wrapped in brown paper in the prince’s direction, keenly aware of Niles’s gaze on his back. “I noticed you didn’t grab anything earlier.”

“No thank you, Laslow,” Leo said, hardly looking up from where he turned Brynhildr’s pages, the divine tome propped where he had one leg almost artfully draped over the other. “I’m quite fine. Best to keep it in reserve.”

Undaunted, Laslow continued to hold out the packet. “Gods know I’m prone to do the same,” he said, “which means I can tell you from experience that you won’t be doing anyone any good if you’re too lightheaded to think straight.”

With an exasperated glance upward that Laslow was quickly beginning to think of as very, well, _Leo-ish,_ Leo sighed and said, “You do know that of the two of us you’re not the one who’s supposed to be giving orders, yes?”

Laslow only grinned. “Never said it was an order,” he said brightly. “More like a bit of friendly advice. From one soldier to another.” Leo’s eyes flickered the slightest bit, leaving Laslow to shrug and add, “I’ll give it to Odin if you don’t want it, and you’ll never see it again.”

Leo sighed again, then wordlessly extended a hand.

A long moment passed in silence while Laslow debated the merits of opening his mouth again. He hadn’t quite decided one way or another when Leo spoke again, deftly unwrapping the strips of dried meat.

“Yes? What is it?”

Laslow shrugged to himself, then finally offered, “You’re doing fine, you know.”

Leo did look up again at that, his brow furrowing. “Pardon?”

“Earlier, with everything,” Laslow gestured to their surroundings, “you looked a little overwhelmed. But you kept it together, and you kept _us_ together. Just thought I should mention, on the off chance you’re anything like me and you’re busy beating yourself up for what you didn’t do instead of what you did.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Leo replied. “Currently I happen to be refreshing my memory on any spells that may be of aid which might have slipped my mind.”

Laslow’s smile faded the slightest bit. “Right,” he said. “I won’t keep you from it, then. Just,” he continued, despite his better judgment, “I _do_ know how hard it is when you become the person everyone automatically looks to in a crisis. Keep your chin up, all right?”

He’d turned back toward the rest of the group when Leo spoke again.

“And how, exactly,” the prince said, “is it that you know that, Laslow?”

Laslow glanced back. “That,” he said, “is a very long story, milord.”

Yet Leo met his gaze, then very pointedly directed his eyes to the spot on the ground beside him. “Do share.”

 _Ah,_ Laslow thought, not quite able to hide the surprise he was sure showed on his face. Another, more pressing thought occurred to him—how _could_ he tell that story without time travel, apocalypses, and vengeful deities bent on the destruction of mankind? He obligingly settled on the ground, though he wracked his mind for so long in an attempt to parse which details he could share and which he couldn’t that he was afraid Leo would begin to press before he finally spoke. “This sword,” he said at last, laying a hand to Falchion’s hilt, “once belonged to my older sister. And our father before her, and his father before him, and you get the picture.” His wry smile faded slightly. “She was twelve and I was nine when she inherited it.”

He hoped _inherited_ had given away what he’d intended it to, and judging by Leo’s slight nod, it had.

“We grew up… pretty rough,” Laslow said. _Understatement of the century._ “But she had the charisma and the leadership to keep us bound together despite the pressure. Everyone looked up to her—naturally, why shouldn’t they? Someone like her, it’s impossible not to. But later on, as time went on, and things got worse…” He blew out a breath. “I can tell you now, in hindsight, that she isn’t dead; she’s healthy, happy, has two beautiful boys who cause entirely too much trouble. Back then… the evidence was stacked just so that we had little choice but to believe her gone. And to lose your leader like that is an especially devastating blow when her little brother could never hope to fill her shoes.”

“I see,” Leo murmured.

“So that’s how I know,” Laslow continued, not quite daring to look anywhere but straight ahead into the distance. “I learned to lead men and to lead armies because I had to, not because I wanted to. Some are born to stand on that pedestal; some are forced to learn how to. It’s one of the most difficult things I’ve done, bearing that weight. And I would have _killed,”_ he said, “for a few more moments of someone who’d done it before coming up to me and telling me I was doing okay.”

He shrugged.

“Besides Odin, perhaps, who will gladly tell you of how he single-handedly dragged me kicking and screaming through almost half a decade of teenage angst.”

“You were young, then,” Leo said, in a soft tone that made Laslow wonder if he’d intended to speak it at all.

“I was sixteen,” Laslow answered, “the first time I killed a man.”

A long silence stretched out.

“Fifteen,” Leo finally whispered. “By my own hand and my own magic, at least. Before that is a bit more complicated.” Then, in a hard tone that carried no regrets, “He had Niles cornered.”

Laslow’s voice was slightly less stony. “He would’ve killed my father,” he said, realizing his mistake slightly too late as Leo shot him a puzzled glance.

“I thought your father—”

“Stepfather,” Laslow said in a hasty half-truth. “It’s, ah, another long story. My parents both died when I was a kid, but I was sort of unofficially adopted later on.” _By younger versions of them,_ he added silently.

“Lucky,” Leo said. “Not that you lost your parents, I mean, but that you found yourself with another set.”

“Yes,” said Laslow. “I suppose so.” He left it at that, not commenting on the edge of wist in Leo’s tone; he’d heard from Odin that the topic of Leo’s mother was not one to be touched and airing his opinion on the topic of Leo’s father was certain to end badly.

They fell silent. Laslow itched a little, uncertain if he ought to leave himself or wait for an official dismissal.

“We’re going to find a way out of here,” Leo finally said firmly.

“Yeah,” Laslow answered. “Of course. Never doubted it.”

Then, in a softer tone, Leo said, “Xander would know what to do right now.”

“Lord Xander would currently be chiding this cave for its lack of respect and etiquette and then taking it to court for assaulting a member of the royal family,” Laslow replied, dryly and unthinkingly. When his words caught up to him a moment later, he winced. “Ah, I mean…”

To his abject surprise, though, Leo only smirked. “I mean, you’re probably not wrong.”

With a wave of relief, Laslow returned the grin. “There’d probably be a forty-minute lecture in there somewhere too. Because of course the situation is my fault. Obviously.”

Leo shook his head, then said, “Xander doesn’t… strictly _dislike_ you, you know.”

 _Must. Not. Start. Laughing. Hysterically,_ Laslow told himself firmly, only barely managing to contain the quirk of his lips and not daring to speak.

“You’re just…” Leo continued, “very different from his previous retainers.”

 _I would imagine his previous retainers were not time-traveling royalty of two different countries, yes,_ Laslow thought. “Quite,” he said aloud instead. “But I have been rather enjoying myself on this trip, so if you ever wanted to switch out Niles…”

Leo barked a laugh at that. “Niles and Xander would kill each other inside of two hours.”

“Well, probably, yes,” Laslow said, wondering absently to himself if that would be a problem at all.

“Laslow,” Leo said abruptly. “Might I see your sword?”

“Um,” Laslow said, his eyes going wide. He doubted Leo intended to actually _use_ Falchion, but he could hardly take the slightest risk of Nohr’s prince finding the blade dull as a stone in his hands.

“The writing on it,” Leo continued. “I was curious as to what it said.”

“Ah,” said Laslow. “I can tell you that. _When all else is lost, the future still remains.”_

Leo paused thoughtfully. “An interesting philosophy. I suppose time does march on, even through the fall of kings and empires…”

“That’s a cynical way of looking at it,” Laslow said.

“And you have a better one, I suppose?”

Laslow shrugged. “I think it’s more… that by definition, from your darkest moments things can only get better.”

“I suppose,” Leo said. “Though one can really never know what one’s darkest moments will be. And if one truly has lost ‘all else’ then there is little in the future left to look to.”

Again, Laslow shrugged. “We’ll agree to disagree, then. Although,” he continued, getting to his feet, “one day you may find the future will surprise you, Lord Leo.”

~~~

Odin roused a few minutes later and made another dent in their food stores. With that, they regathered, lifting their lights against the dark.

“If we cross the river, we ought to be able to follow the bank on the other side,” Leo was saying. “We’re high enough up it’s possible that it eventually drains into the Tiefgrund, so it seems to be the safest bet…”

Laslow tuned the prince out momentarily, sidling up to the river itself. It was wide, but the current was slow and it didn’t seem terribly deep—he would guess the deepest part came to mid-thigh or so, which ought not give them too much trouble crossing it. Logically, he told himself that.

Some little niggle in the back of his mind vehemently disagreed.

 _Leo’s right,_ he thought. There was nowhere for them to go without crossing; it was their best chance of escape.

 _Wrong,_ the small part of him insisted. _Bad. Don’t._

_This is ridiculous. It’s a river._

Oblivious to Laslow’s internal debate, Leo stepped forward, the water quickly splashing against his greaves. Wilhelm followed; Odin, with one slightly puzzled look at Laslow, went after.

A shock went up his spine the moment he touched the river, unrelated to the water’s chill. _Wrong wrong WRONG,_ came the thought again, strong enough to send him reaching for Falchion’s hilt on instinct. He stilled, inhaling—

And was greeted with the heady, bitter scent of rancid water, familiar for all that he hadn’t smelled it since he’d been in a land he couldn’t name aloud.

_Vallite soldiers—_

Something shoved at his back, hard enough it would have sent him sprawling forward if he hadn’t automatically braced for an attack.

Without hesitation, Laslow swung.


	24. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Villified for deeds done in the light, hiding away within plain sight,  
>  These cloaks are keeping safe the secret faces,  
> Terrified of making one mistake, narrow mind till the soul begins to break,  
> We are just husks seeking the world's false graces..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick life update: Quit my job, moving out of state next week, trying to start a small business... September is proving to be an interesting month, if anyone was wondering... I know I missed replying on comments last chapter for such reasons as Life, but do let it be known that I always read and enjoy every one of them.
> 
> (Also, damn, this arc WILL NOT end haha... Next one will be the wrap-up of Ellyon, I promise!)

**Beneath Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 26, 635**

Niles cursed with a vehemence that would have put the crustiest of sailors to shame, leaping out of Falchion’s reach so quickly he stumbled against the riverbank and landed with a splash. “The _hell,_ Laslow?” he demanded, the edge of a snarl in his words as he devolved back into an increasingly creative and colorful string of insults. “—do you _think you’re doing?”_

 _Niles,_ Laslow realized over the pounding of his heart. Niles, the _bloody idiot,_ had been the one to shove him, not one of Anankos’s minions who had no reason to be there.

“What happened?” Leo demanded, belatedly spinning back around.

Laslow ignored him, feeling a rush of blood to his head as he forced himself to sheath Falchion once more. “What part of _quit provoking me_ can you not wrap your head around?” he snapped to Niles instead.

“You were blocking the gods-damned path!”

“I was trying to—”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do, that’s no excuse to turn your sword on me—”

“It’s _dark,_ you were _behind me,_ how in _seven hells_ was I supposed to know you decided to start playing your stupid games with me again—”

“That’s _enough!”_ Leo interjected. “Both of you!” With a scathing look toward both of them, he continued, “This is not the time for messing around!”

Niles, grudgingly, finally gave a cowed look that only Leo seemed to be able to coax out of him. “Sorry, milord,” he finally muttered, sounding as if the words had been forcibly dragged from him.

Laslow, meanwhile, couldn’t quite keep the rebellious note from his voice. “I’ll apologize when he figures out how to leave me alone.”

“Oh, _honestly—”_ Leo began again.

The surge of _wrong_ rose in Laslow again so quickly it nearly drowned out the crash of a spear into Leo’s armor.

The prince fell to his knees, too quickly for anyone to react. Niles had his bow out and drawn a handful of heartbeats later, though then he froze, scanning for a foe he couldn’t see—

 _There!_ Laslow thought, locking on to the familiar purple glow—

Before he could strike, though, Leo half-rose again, a roar of an incantation on his lips that sent an entire line of the riverbed rising up with the force of an explosion, flinging scattered rocks in all directions and forcing Laslow to duck and shield his head.

When the ground settled and he made himself look up again, his magic had returned to a quiet simmer, content that no other soldiers lurked in the water. He eased the slightest bit, Falchion still raised as he continued to scan the river anyway. There was still a faint tingle at his feet, oddly familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place, but it seemed unrelated.

“Lord Leo?” Niles finally asked, a note of panic in his tone.

“I’m fine,” Leo said, slowly staggering to his feet. He briefly hovered his hand above the newly-minted dent in his breastplate, winced, and muttered _“Ow.”_ From the look of it, the spear hadn’t done any more damage than that, though Laslow had no doubt Leo would be sporting a most impressive bruise on his chest for the next few weeks.

“Okay,” said Gisela after a long moment. “What the ever-loving _hell_ was that?”

“It looks like it was just the one, whatever it was,” Wilhelm said. “Thankfully.”

Odin, meanwhile, caught Laslow’s eye, silently mouthing _Was that—?_

Laslow made the slightest of nixing motions with his free hand, then barely nodded. Odin nodded back.

Just the one.

But _why_ just the one? What reason would Anankos have to post a lookout here, and why just the one?

“I’d rather not stick around on the chance you’re wrong,” Leo said, making a clearly displeased face as he shifted and water rushed out the joints of his armor. “Let’s go.”

A long silence dragged out, punctuated only by the splashing of water as they trudged on. “Do me a favor, Lord Leo,” Laslow finally ventured. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Duly noted,” Leo said dryly, the edge of a smirk in his words.

“Indeed!” said Odin. “My liege is among the most nefarious and impressive forces I have ever encountered—”

“Either that,” Laslow said, “or it’s just been a really long time since I’ve been around a proper battle mage.”

Odin puffed up like an offended cat. “Excuse me? And what do you call _me?”_

“An idiot, usually.”

The response had come automatically, as did Odin’s long-winded retort of _just saved all our lives a few hours ago, meneh meneh, know nothing about magic, dear cousin…_ Laslow listened with only half an ear, focusing on setting one foot in front of the other against the surging current.

He could still feel Niles’s gaze on his back, though when he turned to look the archer’s face was more calculating than cold.

~~~

They stopped long enough on the far riverbank for Leo to drain out his armor—he was _not_ keen on splashing around for the next however many hours they were stuck—then continued downstream. The ceiling rose above their heads and the river gradually wound downwards until they were in what could well and truly be called a ravine as they kept picking their way along the path.

The walkway had gotten narrow enough after an hour or so that they’d had to drop to single-file; Leo kept his gaze resolutely fixed ahead so as to keep his treacherously wandering eyes from the river now far below. Best for him to hold on to the currently meager contents of his stomach, he thought wryly.

As that thought crossed his mind, Brynhildr’s glow bounced back against a wall directly ahead of them. Leo fought the sinking feeling—he didn’t really have a clue as to what they would do if they found themselves at a dead end—and lifted the light upward.

Thankfully, the path they followed didn’t come to a sharp end; instead it branched into an abrupt right-hand tunnel in one direction. Further up, it continued subtly left, leading toward a rickety bridge over the ravine in the other. Where Leo now stood was a small landing, at least, giving them all room to stand even if they were in rather tight quarters.

“Which way?” Gisela finally murmured after a long silence had dragged out.

 _Which way indeed,_ Leo thought, then finally forced himself to admit, “I don’t know.” Neither way seemed especially better than the other in a practical sense, although Leo himself would have gladly avoided that bridge no matter what might lay on the other side. But the sign of something _artificial_ was good, if it meant that someone had manually forged a path…

“Maybe we ought to split up,” Laslow offered. “If we take care to mark our paths, then if one group finds a way out they can resupply and come back for the other. Might be better than flipping a coin and ending up having to track back from a dead end.”

Leo had to admit Laslow had a point, even if the idea of splitting their already tiny group in half made him want to shudder. “Perhaps,” he said. “We really ought to bring word to our soldiers above as quickly as possible, lest they start operating under the assumption we’ve perished…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Which they probably already have, haven’t they? I can only hope they haven’t sent word to Krakenburg yet…”

“It’s only been a few hours, Lord Leo,” Wilhelm pointed out. “They ought to hold off a little longer.”

“One can hope,” said Leo, already beginning the mental arithmetic to split them up. Three mages, two groups… Laslow and Niles were best separated, as were Wilhelm and Gisela… and after what had happened earlier Leo was of the mind to keep Laslow close by… “Very well. Lady Gisela, Laslow, and I will take the tunnel; the rest of you take the bridge.”

Odin’s eyes went wide, an unreadable look in them. “Milord…”

“What is it, Odin?”

“It’s… er… I just…” Odin started, uncharacteristically ineloquent.

“Do you see a flaw with the plan?” Leo prodded.

“...Not as such with the _plan,_ milord, so much as I…”

“I’ll switch with Odin,” Laslow said.

“No, if we have to split the mages unevenly then I’ll be the odd one out,” Leo replied. “It’s safer that way. If no one else has objections, let’s move. Better to not waste any more time than we already have.”

Odin let out a soft sort of displeased whine at that, though Leo hadn’t the slightest clue as to why. He shook his head—he truly had the _oddest_ retainers.

“Let’s go,” Leo said after a long moment, turning toward the tunnel.

“Godspeed, Lord Leo,” Wilhelm offered in return.

~~~

“What the matter, Odin?” Niles asked as the last flicker of Brynhildr’s glow disappeared down the tunnel. He seemed faintly displeased at Leo’s separation, but evidently it wasn’t toning down his familiar language any. “You’re awfully quiet, and from you that’s never a good sign.”

Odin had to swallow—twice—before he could force any words out. “I—don’t—” he finally started, then turned his gaze toward the ceiling so as to shut out the trial before him. “—like—bridges.”

“Sorry, Odin,” Wilhelm said ruefully. “Looks like we haven’t got much choice.”

“We’ll make it quick,” Niles said. “I’m very good at being _thoroughly efficient.”_ When his words gained no response and Odin’s feet didn’t unstick from the stone, he turned back and offered sardonically, “Do you need to hold my hand?”

With that, Odin lurched forward, wrapping both his hands in a death grip around Niles’s arm.

Niles blinked, a startled scoff escaping him. “I was _kidding,_ Odin.”

“I wasn’t,” Odin managed, unable to get a decent breath in his lungs no matter how hard he tried.

A beat passed.

“Odin, seriously,” Niles said.

“I’m always s-serious, friend Niles.”

Niles barked a laugh, though it held more than a little exasperation. “You can let go now.”

Odin paused, furrowing his brow for a long moment before he admitted, “Trying.”

Then, surprisingly enough, Niles’s tone softened slightly. “Boy, you _are_ a mess.”

“Well, you see,” Odin began, the words spilling from his lips like the river over the rocks below— _far below,_ really _much too far below—_ “Some time ago… well, strictly speaking, it’s technically some time in the future… er, anyway, let’s just say that something very bad happened, and I—”

 _Oh wait,_ he belatedly realized. _Not supposed to talk about the future thing here._

“Some time ago,” he repeated. “Yes.”

Thankfully, Niles merely shook his head, bemused. “Well, unless you’d like to be stuck down here forever, we’re going to have to cross,” he said. “And while I’m _sure_ the three of us could find some enjoyable way or another to pass the time—I have plenty of suggestions, should you ever need them—rats really _don’t_ taste that good.”

“Rats aren’t bad,” Odin protested. “I’ve had worse—” He abruptly broke off, stomach lurching into his throat as the ground beneath him teetered. That _dastard_ had started _moving!_ He shot Niles a betrayed look as the first board of the bridge wobbled threateningly beneath their feet.

“Oh, yeah?” Niles asked in a faintly challenging tone. “Like what? Bet I’ve had worse.”

“Like…” Odin said, scrunching his forehead as he struggled to think. Thinking was very hard when one didn’t have their feet on solid ground. “Like… um… anything that Kjelle tried to cook, ever.”

“Ah,” said Niles. “Friend of yours?”

“Yeah,” said Odin. How could Niles be so _nonchalant_ when it was so hard to _stand?_ “Couldn’t cook to s-save her life. Or any of our lives. Literally not to save our lives. Although choosing b-between her cooking and d-death would be a hard… hard choice indeed…”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever meet her,” Niles said.

“She’d kick your ass,” Odin told him.

“I’d like to see her try.”

“She would,” Odin insisted. “She’d kick anyone’s ass. She’d kick Lord Xander’s ass.”

“Ooh, now _that_ I want to see!” Niles crowed. “My, I can just picture it now… on his knees, begging for relief—”

“Niles,” Wilhelm interjected, shooting a displeased look backward. “You ought not say such things.”

“Mm, yes, I say plenty of things I shouldn’t say. It’s part of my charm, isn’t it, Odin?”

“I s-suppose,” said Odin.

They were nearly across, then—Wilhelm just setting foot on the other side—when the bridge let out an ominous creak.

Odin launched at Niles who stumbled in response, his free hand fumbling for the railing as he cursed. “Seven hells, Odin—” he began, only to break off as the bridge began to sickeningly tilt. “Go!”

Odin didn’t need to be told twice. He made a flying leap for solid ground and Wilhelm’s outstretched hand, Niles on his heels as the wood beneath their feet gave way.

They both hit the ground with twin grunts, some inconveniently placed pebble scoring a line on Odin’s cheek that he couldn’t bring himself to care about. He coughed, then inhaled more properly in a vain attempt to make his limbs stop trembling. Finally, he forced himself to look back at the tremulously hanging bridge behind them.

“Much as I hate to admit it,” Niles said, “maybe Laslow had the right idea. If that thing couldn’t hold the three of us…”

Odin shuddered and let the implications of that statement go gratefully unsaid.

~~~

“I hate to say it,” said Laslow, “but I’m getting the feeling we’re not any closer to an exit. We’re just going deeper.”

“Yes, but it’s possible we’ve gone beyond Ellyon’s borders at this point,” Leo pointed out. “Which means we may eventually come out the side of the mountain.”

Laslow frowned. “I don’t think so,” he said. “We’ve been drifting slightly left as long as we’ve been in this tunnel. I think we’re probably almost beneath where we started.”

Leo shot him a look that was both puzzled and concerned. “No, we’re not,” he said in a tone that told Laslow he ought to get with the rest of them.

A beat passed. “If anything I’d say we’ve been drifting _right,”_ Gisela put in.

Laslow glanced between the other two before shaking his head. “All right,” he said, wondering if this place was just getting to their heads—if any of them could tell left from right anymore or if they even had some inkling of what time it was. “I mean, the only alternative is to turn back and see if we can join up with—”

A distressed shout echoed down from ahead of them, leaving Laslow whip his head around and raise his torch.

“Odin?” he called, unable to keep the note of panic from his voice as he stepped out. Had the other group managed to circle ahead of them?

“Niles?” Leo echoed, hot on Laslow’s heels as another shout followed in the wake of the first, steeped in nothing less than utter terror.

And then, half a second before Laslow broke into a dead run, a third voice washed over him with arctic iciness.

_“Fie, Laslow!”_

Laslow froze.

_It’s not real, she’s not here, there’s no way she could be here, it’s another trap—_

Leo, unfortunately, did not seem to have quite come to that realization as a blood-curdling _scream_ echoed back to them.

_“CORRIN!”_

“Lord Leo, _no!”_ Laslow shouted after him even as the prince broke into a dead sprint. “It isn’t her—”

He broke off and took off half a second later when it became apparent his words would go unheeded.

“Lord Leo!” he shouted again, momentarily thanking the gods he’d spent his entire life running or he’d have never caught up with Leo’s dash. One final leap sent him crashing into Leo’s back, both of them going down in a sliding tangle of limbs across the rocky and suddenly far steeper floor until Laslow’s back crashed against the tunnel wall. _“Listen to me,_ I don’t know what the _hell_ that thing is but it _isn’t her_ and it _isn’t real—”_

Leo only twisted and _shoved,_ face alight with such panic and rage that Laslow had half a second to think he was about to meet his end by Brynhildr.

Then, blessedly, logic seemed to click back into place, Leo casting too-quick glances between the darkened tunnel and Laslow’s face. “She can’t be—”

“No,” Laslow said, immediately grasping at the hesitation. “There’s no way someone could’ve gotten her from the Fortress here ahead of us, it’s got to be a trick, another trap.”

Leo sucked in a great, heaving gasp as the scream of not-Corrin sounded again, this time recognizable enough as a broken sob of his name. “You’re right,” he finally said. “You must be—”

Then, coming from the wrong end of the tunnel with pounding footsteps, _“Mother!”_

“Gisela!”

Scarcely had she passed them when a spell from Leo sent vines bursting up through the stone floor, winding up around Gisela’s legs and nearly sending her faceplanting. She twisted back, the same betrayed look on her features as Leo staggered to his feet.

“Laslow’s right. Whatever that is cannot be real.” Leo’s spell held fast even as he dropped his hands to his sides. “Your mother died five years ago, Gisela.”

Gisela shook her head, curls springing free from their braids by the strength of the motion.

“My family came to the funeral,” Leo continued, his voice softening. “And I didn’t know what to say to you. So I didn’t.”

With a bowed head and one final shudder, Gisela nodded, the vines binding her retreating a moment later.

A beat after, the last flickering light from further up the tunnel—where Laslow had first dropped his torch in his scuffle with Leo—blinked out unceremoniously.

Laslow swore under his breath, realized he could have almost shouted that particular four-letter word and it would have been drowned out by the relentless cacophony anyway, and turned back toward the way they’d come.

“Um,” he ventured after a heart-dropping moment. “Either of you two know where we came in?”

Leo straightened again, brandishing Brynhildr’s light against the solid stone wall Laslow faced.

“Uh,” Leo said, which was quite possibly the first time Laslow had actually heard him rendered speechless.

“So I’m not crazy?” Laslow said, unable to completely hide the note of hysteria. “Shouldn’t it be right there?”

“It… should be…?” Leo said in a tone that said he wasn’t sure if it should be at all.

“This gods-damned place is _messing with our heads_ ,” Gisela said, her armor scraping the stone as she stood, “and I am _gods-damned sick of it.”_

“Yeah,” Laslow said dryly. “That’s about the sentiment, all right.”

And still the screaming continued, relentless.

Their possibly non-existent entrance had dumped them out in another half-moon cavern, the walls only reflecting every harsh, anguished voice back with sickening clarity. They melted and blended together but each came distinct, each designed to _wound, Odin Niles Wilhelm Elise Selena Corrin more he didn’t know Olivia Lucina Camilla—_

Laslow had to clench his hands and grind his teeth against the surge of _rage_ that rose in him against whoever had built this, who had decided they had the right to _rummage around in his head_ and yank out what he most held dear to turn against him and _it’s not real, it can’t be real, Say’ri Say’ri Say’ri—_

Leo spun away without warning, the same righteous anger that boiled in Laslow’s veins evident in his every footstep as he strode to the other side of the cavern and pulled up short. His light bounced once more off the far wall, then faded into unseen depths below. “That explains it,” he muttered.

Cautiously, Laslow followed, peering over the edge to find while the gap ahead of them was perhaps only twenty feet across, it had to be nearly six times as deep. The river—if it was indeed the same river, and for all Laslow knew it was a different system entirely by that point—glinted far below.

_We’d have jumped to our deaths._

“Thank the gods Odin isn’t with us,” he said under his breath, too quiet to be heard over the constant, horrible chorus.

He didn’t think any combination of the five of them could have stopped Odin if he’d gotten the slightest inkling of Robin’s voice in the cacophony.

Gisela stepped back after a moment, looking slightly pale and shaking as if she didn’t trust herself to stay that close to the edge. “Whoever built this is one sick son of a dastard.”

Leo didn’t strictly answer, instead muttering the same incantation from earlier in the night that had revealed the workings of the first trap, watching the far wall come alight with layers upon layers of the same glowing runes, stretching down the cavern wall until they blended into the depth’s obscurity. He paused, lips working silently before he broke off with a despaired expression.

“You don’t know how to shut it off,” Laslow said softly.

“I haven’t a clue,” Leo admitted. “And if the way we came in has… somehow vanished… then I…” He shook his head.

_“Leo, please, please!”_

The mimicry of Corrin’s voice rose once more over the rest; Leo stilled his hand over Brynhildr’s cover for a moment before he spoke, steel once more in his voice. “Stand back, Laslow.”

“You’re not planning on jumping or anything, right?” Laslow asked.

Leo only shot him a dark look. _“Stand back,_ Laslow.”

Laslow decided he probably ought to stand back.

Then, with a sharp and thunderous crack and a surge of power from the earth below, the rune-covered wall shattered outward into the ravine.

Laslow ducked instinctively and saw Gisela do the same, his heart pounding and ears ringing loud enough from the initial explosion it took him a moment to realize the voices had died into blessed, deafening _silence._

“There,” Leo said a moment later, having hardly budged from his initial position. “Much better.”

Laslow straightened, letting out a high, thready chuckle. “Not that I enjoyed listening to that any more than you did, milord, but was that _strictly_ necessary?”

“Yes,” Leo said flatly. “Yes it was.” He turned back, the familiar haughtiness now back on his face. “The universe ought to learn it is proving unwise to test me when I’ve been awake this long without any coffee.”

“...Right,” said Laslow. “Reminding myself again never to make you angry. Or to stand between you and your beverage of choice.”

“A prudent reminder,” Leo said. He glanced back over his shoulder, his brow quickly furrowing and his voice dropping into puzzlement. “What the… _that_ isn’t right.”

“Er,” Laslow said after several seconds of blank silence. “What isn’t?”

“The wall that I just blew to pieces,” said Leo, “looks exactly the same as it did immediately beforehand.”

Laslow and Gisela exchanged glances, then both looked to the gaping hole in the stone across from them. “It… really doesn’t, Your Highness,” Gisela said.

“For one, I think the ‘Your Highness’ is getting a bit too formal at this point, isn’t it?” Leo said. “And for another, just how closely _are_ you looking? I mean, unless you—” He broke off, paused, then let out a triumphant crow. “Oh! _Of course!_ Gods, how did it take me this long to realize?”

“Realize what, exactly?” Laslow asked.

“Lady Gisela,” Leo said, gesturing across the ravine. “Tell me what you see on the far wall—as precisely as you can, please.”

“How precise can I be?” she shot back. “There’s a giant hole in it, because you blew it up.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Yes, we’re acknowledging that fact, moving on. Something else. Size? Shape?”

“It’s… I dunno, maybe ten feet across?” Gisela said, squinting and stepping forward. “And it’s… I guess, sort of a triangle?”

Laslow stared at the round, craterlike gap in the stone and wondered how she was getting ‘triangle’ out of it. “I guess if you squint,” he said dubiously. “I wouldn’t call it a triangle.”

“What would you call it then, Laslow?” Leo asked.

Laslow raised a brow. “Round.”

“Right,” said Leo. “Both of you are correct. Just like all three of us were correct when you said we were going left—” he nodded at Laslow, then to Gisela, “and you said we were going right, and I said we were going straight. Except for the fact that all of us were actually wrong. Because this place—” he gestured widely, “is little more than one giant _illusion_ that’s feeding every single one of us different information.”

A beat passed. “Okay, hang on,” Laslow said, rubbing at his temple. “So you’re saying we’re not… actually here?”

“We’re probably underground,” Leo said. “Even at this scale—and it is a _scale,_ I can tell you, I’ve never seen anything anywhere near approaching this—there’s only so much that can be done. That ravine is probably real, the entrance in the shrine I’m sure was real… but these tunnels that we’ve been in for hours? Probably just looped, changing a little bit every time so we don’t recognize them. We could easily be within half a mile of where we started, or less. The magic we’ve all been feeling is coming less from the Faceless and more from this… _monstrosity._ ”

“Okay,” said Gisela, “so that’s great and all, but if we’re really in some giant illusion, doesn’t that mean it’s just gonna do all its illusioning to keep us from finding the exit?”

Leo visibly slumped. “Yes,” he said, his tone falling. “It almost certainly will. The voices, the Faceless, the invisible soldier in the river… Whoever built this didn’t want anybody who stumbled upon it to make it out alive.” He sighed. “Which probably _also_ means we’re practically on top of whatever is making these Faceless, and we might never be able to find it.”

“All right,” said Laslow. “So the simple solution here seems to be shutting down the illusions, yeah? So we’ll be able to see everything as it really is?”

“Simple on paper, perhaps,” Leo said dryly. “Nothing about this is _simple._ Even if we find Wilhelm and Odin again—which may be no easy matter now that we’ve split up—it could take months to figure these spells out enough to counteract them. Something less complex could perhaps be brute-forced, but at this level I wouldn’t dare…”

Laslow tilted his head, finally deigning to focus on the faintest hum of power beneath his feet that had been quietly simmering away for hours now—more evidence, he realized as he finally placed the feeling, that Leo was correct if he’d been near enough to sense it the whole time. “Would a Dragon Vein help any?” he ventured.

 _“Greatly,”_ Leo said absently, “because I probably _could_ brute-force at least a portion of it without killing myself in the process—”

He broke off, spinning back toward Laslow with nothing less than openly hostile suspicion on his face.

“And how did _you_ know there was a Dragon Vein here?”

Laslow swallowed, painted on his best innocent expression, and said, “Really? Wow, that’s pretty lucky.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed further. “So you just happened to _randomly_ suggest the idea?”

Laslow shrugged. “Well, I remembered what Lord Xander did the day Zola attacked us, and Odin’s told me about the border wall in Cheve,” he said. “It seemed like a plausible idea that one could help. That there’s one actually here, yeah, that’s luck.” He offered a grin as Leo’s gaze still didn’t waver. “What, do you think I’m royalty or something?”

A long moment passed while innocence and suspicion silently clashed in the air.

“Geez, then,” Gisela finally said. “Are you always this much of an ass to your servants? He’s trying to help.”

Leo shot her a look very much like the looks Laslow frequently received from Xander, which meant Laslow’s own personal estimation of Gisela went up by several degrees. “Laslow isn’t even my servant,” Leo finally said airily.

“Oh, so you’re not contesting that you’re being an ass then? Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

After a moment, Leo rolled his eyes and shook his head. “We really don’t have time for this,” he finally said, striding out in plain search of the Dragon Vein’s precise location.

Laslow, meanwhile, only grinned. “Well, milady, I quite thoroughly appreciate your sticking up for me,” he said brightly. “Once we get out of here, I should like to even more thoroughly thank you over a… cup…” He trailed off, fidgeting slightly as Leo directed another death glare at him, before finishing, “...of tea?”

Gisela stared at him blankly before shrugging.

“Out of curiosity, Lady Gisela,” Leo cut in, “is that a hexlock spear?”

Gisela set a wary grip on the butt of her spear before asking, “Yes, why?”

“I could use it,” Leo said, absently gesturing for it.

Gisela merely balked. “Is it going to come out of whatever harebrained plan you have in one piece?”

“One, it’s hardly harebrained; two, I should think you’d be more worried about _me_ coming out in one piece; and three, I see no reason why not.”

“What’s special about a hexlock spear?” Laslow asked.

“Spelled to redirect and dissipate magical energy into itself instead of its user,” Leo said. “Effectively increases one’s resistance to magic. Should help control the kickback from this if I’m holding it when I try.” He flicked his fingers toward the spear again. “Honestly, Lady Gisela, there’s no reason I can see why I’d destroy or otherwise harm your weapon.”

Reluctantly, Gisela extended her spear with a muttered “You’d better hope so, Lord Leo, because I’m holding you personally responsible for it. I can’t replace it.”

“Hexlock spears aren’t _that_ difficult to come by,” Leo pointed out. “Listen, I’ll buy you another on the infinitesimal chance something _does_ happen to it.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t get another one,” Gisela said, crossing her arms. “I said I can’t _replace_ that one.” Her voice dropped slightly. “My mother gave it to me.”

A softer look of understanding crossed Leo’s face as he nodded; he seemed to take the spear with a touch more care than would have otherwise been warranted.

“All right,” he said, pressing the butt of the spear to the stone floor, the only warning before the unadulterated power of a Dragon Vein burst from the ground.

Laslow forced himself not to shrink back—he wasn’t sure just how much a normal, non-dragon-blooded human ought to feel at that moment and Gisela had hardly flinched. He could only pray he’d done enough to deflect Leo’s suspicions on the matter of Dragon Veins for the time being.

The walls shimmered, faded, and melted into the floor, but for the ravine and the cliff across from it that Leo had taken out his displeasure on. The river welled up from the ground once more, hardly any further than when they had first crossed it; not fifty feet away, in various states of bewilderment, stood Odin, Niles, and Wilhelm.

“Lord Leo!” Odin finally cried, beaming. “Your power was too great for even the stone itself to withstand!” He tilted his head slightly. “Er, why is that, exactly?”

Leo let out a soft, breathy laugh, handing Gisela her intact spear back with a triumphant look that wordlessly said _See?_ and called back, “You’re all right, you three?”

“You’re all _real,_ aren’t you?” Laslow added, unable to quite help the wariness.

Niles shrugged, pressed his fingers to his wrist over the pulse point, and replied, “Last I checked.” Then, beginning to stride closer, “And just what happened to _you_ three?”

“Oh, Lord Leo took the opportunity to indulge in some pyrotechnics,” Gisela said dryly.

“We’re fine,” Leo said, rolling his eyes. “And you?”

“Just _peachy,”_ said Niles with a grin. “That damned bridge nearly gave out on us. Odin puked a lot. We’ve since been doing a lot of walking.” He paused and glanced up. “Although we seem to somehow be… back where we started?”

Laslow tuned out Leo’s second explanation of the illusions, instead trying to reconcile the new realities of their location. As Niles had said, they were almost exactly where they had been when they first forded the river, just slightly upstream from the waterfall. Across the way was the tunnel from the original shrine entrance, although to Laslow’s right was the unchanged ravine of voices that hadn’t been visible when they’d first come down. Even the bridge the other group had crossed swayed ominously on its last ropes just downstream. Just _how_ long had they been wandering in that tiny area without even realizing?

“Hey, Laslow,” Gisela said, nudging at him. When he glanced up, she gestured toward a narrow path beside the waterfall, then smirked when he raised a querying brow.

“A lady after my own heart,” he said with a wink, already starting for the path.

“And where are you two going?” Leo called.

“Investigating, Lord Leo,” Gisela called back. “Do keep up.”


	25. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Niles tried very hard to lose this fic's teen rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am moved! Still settling in but very happy with the decision. Thanks for all the well wishes on the last chapter!

**Beneath Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 26, 635**

Blood and bones and runes and _stench_ greeted them behind the waterfall.

“Ooh,” said Niles, the only one who didn’t seem to immediately recoil at the scent. “We’ve finally disrobed the business area.”

“Have a little respect, Niles,” Wilhelm chided lowly. “We stand upon Ellyon’s grave.”

“Grave…?” Odin said.

“The bodies were moved below when the destruction was discovered,” Leo explained. “Easier to keep them preserved for investigation after the weather above started to warm. Hence the ice spells.” He let Brynhildr’s light flicker out at that point—the room shone too brightly with ever-burning candles already, reflecting the decades-old ice crystals that lined every wall of the new area.

“So that means…” Laslow said, swallowing audibly and looking vaguely ill.

“These Faceless are built from Ellyon’s bones,” Leo whispered. “Yes.”

“Gods rest their souls,” Wilhelm murmured.

A long moment passed. “I mean, not that we didn’t know it was necromancy,” Gisela finally said.

“But seeing it feels a bit different, doesn’t it?” Leo replied.

“Yeah.”

“But there’s,” Laslow began again, “only so many of them that can be made here, right? There’s only so many bodies.”

“Technically true, yes,” Leo said. “We’re not quite talking world-ending proportions just yet.”

“Perhaps,” said Wilhelm. “But how many people will lose their lives in the meantime?”

Leo didn’t quite seem to have an answer for that. Finally, he took a step back. “You may think me craven,” he said, “but I’m not sure I want to mess with this.”

“Less so craven, and more I would think you a fool if you did,” Wilhelm replied. “It would take months of study before I was anywhere near comfortable starting to unravel this.”

“I’m guessing the Dragon Vein won’t work for another round?” Laslow ventured.

“Theoretically it could,” said Leo. “If you wanted to take the very high risk that the backlash would kill all of us instantly, or the perhaps even higher risk that the backlash would kill all of us slowly and painfully. The illusions weren’t strictly _dark_ magic. This is.”

“...Duly noted,” Laslow replied, only to be cut off by Leo’s next sharp words.

“Odin, _do not touch that.”_

“I’m not going to touch it,” Odin replied from his spot near the left wall. “I do enjoy my internal organs remaining in all their correct arrangements. It’s not very fun when they aren’t.”

“A sentiment I’m sure we can _all_ agree on,” Niles said dryly.

“But you’re not seriously suggesting we leave without doing anything, right?” Gisela prodded. “This place is gonna get snowed off any day and we won’t be able to make it back until April or May.”

“I can seal off the cave system with Brynhildr,” Leo said. “Keep it contained, try to study up on the specifics, and return better prepared in the spring.” He glances back. “Is that agreeable to you, Lord Wilhelm?”

Wilhelm paused, then said, “I suppose that’s the best option we have, yes.”

“...Very well, then,” Leo said, casting one more glance over the room before taking a step back. “Let’s get out of here.” Then, before any of them could move, he added softly, “I suppose I stand corrected, then.”

“How so?” Odin asked.

“All these illusory spells down here have the same signature,” Leo said. “I couldn’t tell you _who_ cast them, but I can say with near certainty that they were all cast by the same mage. There’s no possible way a single mage could have laid all this down, in what seems to be less than a year, without some truly incredible amounts of residual magic left in this place.”

 _The alternative is some form of magical attack that would have to have been so powerful as to venture into the realm of utterly fantastical, which may fit the evidence marginally better but has been generally deemed to be even more unlikely,_ Leo had said just the barest few days ago; Odin shuddered slightly at the reminder.

“It was no plague,” Leo said presently, eyes raised toward the rough-hewn stone above their heads, “that wiped out Ellyon.”

~~~

**Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 26, 635**

They had no sooner emerged into glittering, glorious winter sunlight did Leo seal the exit shut behind them, and no sooner had he done that did a familiar whinny come echoing over the landscape.

“Oh, for gods’ sakes,” Leo groaned, following the sound toward the southern ridgeline—they’d come out a little ways east of where they’d camped, just outside of Ellyon’s walls by the looks of it. “How did he get loose?”

Hati’s coal-black hide stood out like a beacon against the few inches of snow that had managed to land so far in the year, his second whinny echoing against the mountaintops. His slightly askew blanket gave Leo the impression he hadn’t been released on purpose, as did the rope visibly trailing from his halter even at the distance. Leo bit back another groan as Hati arched his neck, flagged his tail, and set off at a trot over the landscape.

“Huh,” Niles said as the destrier neared. “Well, considering I and several other people in our greater company happen to own mares, let’s just hope your stallion managed to keep his little stallion to himself.”

 _“Niles,”_ Leo said.

“Yeeeeees?”

“No,” Leo said flatly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Niles said, clicking his fingers. “Coffee. I forgot. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve only blown up the _one_ wall by this point.” Ignoring Leo’s glare, he shrugged. “Still, I do expect child support if your horse couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Horses don’t wear pants, Niles…” Odin said, sounding vaguely confused.

Laslow, sounding as though he was quickly starting to tread the line where sleep deprivation began to resemble drunkenness, burst into laughter.

“Lucky for them,” Niles answered nonchalantly. “In my personal opinion, this should also be adopted by humanity—”

 _“Niles!”_ Leo interjected again, then let out another sigh as Hati, snorting, came within reach. “You are damned among equines,” he muttered to the latter.

Laslow’s laughter, meanwhile, immediately cut off. “Oh, no thank _you,”_ he told Niles with a shudder.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Philanderer of Legend?” Niles asked. “I would think this idea would make your efforts significantly easier—unless you’re worried about your _adequacy—”_

Leo, having taken Hati’s frayed lead with one hand, waved the other to silently send a portion of the earth rising up, conveniently dropping a pile of wet, gray slush on Niles’s head. Ignoring his retainer’s look of stuttering betrayal, the prince said, “I gave you fair warning. There _is,”_ he pointed out, “a lady present.”

“Hey, if you’re all so keen on freezing your tender bits off it’s no skin off my nose,” said Gisela.

“I am _not_ keen!” Laslow cried, his voice rising.

“Yes, Laslow, so we’ve gathered—” Niles began, absently batting the remaining slush from his hair.

“Hush, all of you!” Leo cut in, his sharp tone booking no argument. He crouched at Hati’s knees, removing one glove to run his hand over the black hide and finding his palm came away with distinct flecks of dried red. “Why are you _bloody?”_ he asked despite the fact his horse couldn’t answer him. Hati gave a light nip at Leo’s shoulder, catching nothing more than the metal of his armor; Leo didn’t bother to reprimand him, too busy inspecting his mount for injuries.

He found none.

Which meant—

Without another word, Leo vaulted onto Hati’s back, ignoring the awkward slide of the blanket between them and the fact that the torn lead would serve him only as a left rein. The added height of his mount gave him enough clearance to see over the nearest hilltop, the flags of their camp flapping within his newly elevated horizon. “This way,” he said, closing his legs around Hati’s barrel and trusting the stallion to find his footing over the ice.

Exhausted as they were after spending what the sun deemed to be more than a straight day awake, they were near enough to the camp for the trip to be quick. Leo almost wished he’d had a few more minutes to brace himself.

Faceless and human bodies alike were strewn through the camp, black blood muddled with red against the snow. The tents were flipped open and scattered, supplies strewn and smashed across the ground.

No one had been left to pick them up.

“No, no,” Wilhelm whispered. “Carina, Elias—” He paused as his voice broke. “Dusk Dragon, _Alfred,_ his wife’s due next month…”

Leo halted Hati in a clear spot, swinging once more from his stallion’s back before daring to venture, “This is only half our company, isn’t it?”

“They probably sent the other half home for reinforcements when we went missing,” Wilhelm said thickly. “That’s what I would’ve…” He broke off again. “Ah, gods…”

Leo made his way to the duke’s side, Hati following on his heels; he noted from the corner of his eye that the rest of the mounts from the half of the company were still tied where they ought to be. _Damned contrary stallion,_ he thought to himself. “We need to rest, Your Grace,” he finally said. “There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

“I know,” Wilhelm replied, tone still slightly ragged. “I know…”

“We’ll give them a proper send-off when we’ve recovered a little,” Leo said firmly, glancing back toward the others and momentarily thanking the fact they’d all made it out in one piece. “And I promise you,” he continued, looking in the generally western direction of Krakenburg, “that we will shortly bring this madness to an end.”

~~~

**Ellyon, Diabola, Nohr—October 27, 635**

Leo woke with a gasp on his lips and sweat on his brow, forcibly pushing back the images of too-narrow tunnels and scarlet-skinned Faceless and cliffs into oblivion.

He sat up carefully, pressing his palms to his temples and managing to choke back the strangled _Corrin_ that threatened to escape his lips. Just barely managing it, he worked his fingers through his hair as if he could ground himself in the pull of it.

When his racing heart finally slowed to a reasonable level, he let out a shuddering sigh that shook his entire frame and felt as though it should have done the same to the tent. The cold, creeping night around him gave him no true indications of the time beyond being nowhere near either sunset or sunrise; they had emerged from Ellyon’s caverns around midday and had quickly taken to retiring, considering Odin was the only one of them who had actually gotten any sleep below. All too exhausted for anyone to safely take on guard duty, Leo had spent the last of his energy in setting up runes around the perimeter that would hopefully alert them to any wandering Faceless and had fallen into slumber like the rest.

Now, his breath hung as mist in the dark, leaving him drawing both his cloak and his bedroll tighter around himself. They had salvaged the necessary half a dozen single-man tents from their former camp’s wreckage before relocating slightly down the mountain; though Leo’s rank usually gave him the privilege of solitary camping anyways, at that moment he rather wished for the heat of another body in proximity.

The chill from the outside was only rivaled by his chill on the inside; he forcibly reminded himself, _again,_ that the cruel illusions had been only that; Corrin would still be in the Northern Fortress, safe and warm and alive as always. They’d spent more time in Ellyon than he would have liked, but provided the weather cooperated he ought to be timed to arrive at his sister’s fortress right in time with the rest of their family on the night before her birthday.

_Provided the weather—_

The temperature finally clicked with the ominous bow in the canvas over his head that his eyes could only just make out. Abruptly awake, Leo surged forward to press his hand against the side of the tent; his fingers met only the cold, packed resistance of heavy snowfall.

A word that did not usually fall past his lips escaped him then. He tugged at the flap in the canvas that should have been his exit and found only resistance; in the end, he had to take the knife from his pack and slice a line through the peak, only managing an ungainly scramble of an escape through the ceiling with the assistance of Brynhildr.

Leo emerged into the night to find the other five tents nearly buried, snow still falling in curtains so heavy it was impossible to make out more than a few feet in front of him.

 _“Dammit,”_ he breathed, the word visible in the air as smoke. Then, louder, as he trudged his way to where his retainer’s tent just peeked through the snow, “Niles? Niles, we need to—gah!”

Evidently, he had misjudged just _where_ Niles’s tent began, going by the way the heavily packed snow gave way in a tangle of canvas and Leo’s flailing limbs. He landed on what were _probably_ Niles’s legs with a yelp that was shortly followed by another curse.

Niles shifted beneath the tremulous layers of canvas and Leo resisted the urge to rub at his likely bruised hip. “Why, milord,” Niles drawled, with hardly a hint of upset at his rude awakening, “if you wished so badly to join me for the night, all you had to do was ask. No need to make up such elaborate excuses…”

 _“Niiiiles,”_ Leo groaned, leaning his head against whatever combination of snow, tent, and ground was beneath him at that point, then shortly having to fling an arm over his eyes to protect them from the still-falling blizzard. “I’m being serious!”

“Of course you are, milord. So am I. Because, _seriously,_ you need only ask…”

Leo groaned again.

“Milord!” came a voice that was entirely too bright for the hour. Odin, hair sticking up at half a dozen odd angles, had popped out of his own abode like some sort of strange groundhog. “You’ve mastered the secret technique of the _CANVAS PIERCING FLOP!_ I’m so proud! But, er, did you have to test it at _this_ hour…?”

“Odin,” Niles sighed, some part of his head managing to emerge from the wreckage Leo had caused, “could you give the adults a minute? Lord Leo and I are having a moment and it’s likely not child friendly…”

“Child?” Odin asked, his tone rising in indignation. “I’m older than both of you!”

“Maturity is defined in more than simple existence,” Niles said. “For the record, I happen to be continually amazed that you managed to procreate.”

 _“What,”_ interjected the new and far grumpier voice of Laslow, “are you three _screaming_ about? I mean, Odin screeching is one thing, but the rest of you?”

“Laslow, they’re calling me immature!” Odin cried.

A beat passed before Laslow’s wild laughter reached them. Odin’s face fell into comically offended hurt.

“Would _someone,”_ Leo cut back in, his voice rising in exasperation, “help me untangle myself from the damned canvas before we end up trapped on this damned mountain all winter?”

A long silence dragged out as all three retainers seemed to take in the blizzard and all its implications, only broken by a particularly ineloquent expression of surprise from Gisela as she, too, managed to free herself from her tent. “Well, there’s the snow,” she said. Leo thought he caught the faintest twitch of her lips as her gaze landed on his own precarious positioning and resisted the urge to fling his arm back over his face.

“This is bad,” he said. He lifted his head to make out their string of unhappy horses, wondering how much of the mountain they’d have to take on foot with the snow rendering the paths more perilous than before. “We need to leave as quickly as we can. There’s no telling when this will let up.”

Leo sat up, ignoring Niles’s smirk as he did so, already working through calculations on the fly.

Too close, he thought—he’d cut the distance to Corrin’s birthday entirely too close. The latest he could possibly push back would see him leaving on the last ferry of the twenty-eighth and arriving in the dark early hours of the thirty-first itself. He’d surely get a chewing-out for it—one to be taken in good nature, at least, though surely to be brought up for years to come.

Still, that gave them nearly forty hours to reach the Port of Jakell from that moment. Easily feasible in ideal weather, but enough to give him pause as flakes the size of coppers continued to descend from the heavens.

Leo finally stood, tried to ignore the midnight chill of Ellyon, and hoped for the best.

~~~

**Port of Jakell, Diabola, Nohr—October 28, 635**

“There’s nothing that can be done, then?” Leo asked, almost having to shout to be heard over the whipping rain that left Laslow vainly trying to turn his body against the wind in hopes of sheltering himself.

The aged sailor shook his head, genuine regret on his weathered face as he leaned out the window. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. There’s just no way to run the ferries in this weather.” His words had an implied _Not even for you_ tacked on the end of them. “They might be on schedule for the morning if the weather’s cooperatin’ by then, but with how these storms have been carryin’ on I can’t even guarantee that.”

Leo had such a stubborn set in his features Laslow was almost afraid he was about to demand a boat anyway, though after a long moment the prince’s face finally softened. “I understand,” he said smoothly. “Have a pleasant evening, then.”

“As best I can in this,” the man replied. “Sorry again, Your Highness.”

Leo only tipped his head in acknowledgment, turning away and striding back into the worst of the storm. “Come on then, you three,” he said, his tone clipped. “We’ll find a place to put the horses up and then a place to put ourselves up.”

The three retainers exchanged glances before following the prince into the night. “Unlucky,” Niles finally ventured.

“Yes,” Leo said, sounding as if he bit off the end of the word. “Every part of this trip has been _cursedly_ unlucky.”

He wasn’t wrong; the snowfall had continued from when it picked up in their sleep, making their path down the mountains both arduous and treacherous, with Odin and Wilhelm having to trade off fire spells in a mostly-vain attempt to ease the way. Gisela’s destrier had decided to come up lame about halfway down, slowing them even further. By the time they’d reached the foothills, they’d been so far behind that Wilhelm had waved them straight on to Jakell without asking them to return to Tuefell, leaving Laslow wondering just how awkward of a trip home father and daughter were sharing at that moment. He hadn’t had _much_ time to wonder, with Leo pushing them onward even as the lowering elevation turned the snow into sleet, then pouring rain.

Yet it seemed the second prince’s efforts had been in vain, with the last ferry that could have managed Leo’s strict deadlines now bobbing innocently unmanned in the swollen waters, just barely visible through the pouring rain.

“I’m sure Lady Corrin will understand,” Laslow said as the silence dragged out.

Even over the storm, Leo’s sigh was audible. “Yes,” he said softly. “She will.”

“Besides,” Laslow continued, “can’t you just have it a day late, like yours?”

“We _don’t,”_ Leo said, his voice growing sharp, “move Corrin’s birthday.”

 _Touchy much?_ Laslow thought dryly. “Just a suggestion.”

A long silence dragged out. “We wouldn’t be able to, anyway,” Leo said after a moment. “Camilla and Elise are due to leave on the first as it is. Father wants them to pay an ambassadorial visit to Nestra.”

“I didn’t know Lady Elise ventured on such missions,” Odin said.

“It’s her first.”

Leo’s words evidently closed the topic; no one spoke again until the horses were settled in rented stalls and the humans had found themselves an inn that wasn’t full to the brim of those with similarly displaced travel plans. The ground floor tavern smelled of stale beer and rang with noise; hardly the classiest place Laslow had ever stayed, but a world above the caves of Ellyon.

“I call the single,” Laslow said as he ascended the stairs, just behind where Leo bore the keys to the last three rooms in the building.

“That’s not how that works,” Odin grumbled.

“It absolutely is,” Laslow replied. “Not my fault you were slow on the uptake.”

“As if _you_ have ever respected the sacred call of dibs,” Odin continued.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Odin? Don’t want to share with little old me?” Niles asked. “I’ll make sure you don’t get cold.”

Odin’s steps paused. “Laslow, share with me?” he said in a beseeching tone.

“Nope,” said Laslow. “Called it.”

“You realize your call is not as definitive as you’re upholding it to be, yes?” Leo interjected at the top of the stairs, fiddling with the first key and swinging open its respective door.

“But Lord Leo,” Laslow said, “Odin snores.”

“Hmm,” said Leo. “Perhaps we should give Odin the single then, so he doesn’t disturb either of you.”

Laslow balked, casting a wary look back at the grinning Niles.

“I don’t mind either way,” the thief said, his tone lilting.

 _NOPE,_ Laslow thought, about to replead his case when he caught a glimpse of Leo’s own smirk from the corner of his eye as the prince set his pack on the bed. “Why, Lord Leo,” Laslow said, “if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to stir the pot.”

“Oh, he is,” Niles said. “He’s learned from the best. That would be me, if you were wondering.”

After a beat, Leo shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Niles has seniority, Niles gets the single,” he said flatly, tossing the two remaining keys to Niles and Laslow. “Discussion closed. Now out of my room, thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want any _company,_ milord?” Niles asked, swinging his key.

In response, Leo clicked his fingers and gestured to the door again. Niles sighed and did as he was bid.

“I can’t believe,” Odin said as the three emerged back into the hallway, “you told Lord Leo I snore.”

“You do,” Laslow pointed out.

“So do you!”

“Oh ho then,” said Niles. “Aren’t I lucky to have all the peace and quiet to myself.” He earned twin glares at that, only to send Laslow and Odin a delicate wave as he disappeared into his own room.

Both cousins exchanged glances and let out identical sighs at the same moment.

“Poor Lord Leo,” Odin said when they’d settled in their own room.

“Eh, they’ll figure it out,” Laslow said. “Not like we’ve never missed our birthdays.”

“There were a few years there when we didn’t even know when our birthdays _were,”_ Odin pointed out.

Laslow glanced away at that, memories of a dead timeline welling up in him, a world so far away now he almost had to question if it had ever existed at all. The days when only Laurent had actually bothered to keep track of the date, when even he had faltered enough that they never quite known for sure just what the calendar would truly say. Fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen had passed with little more than silent shrugs between Inigo and Owain, acknowledging as the heat of summer faded that they had surely survived another year of hell and that was that.

“True that,” Laslow finally murmured. _Then again, we never lived in a tower practically devoid of all outside human contact. Poor girl._ Pushing that thought aside, he said, “All right. Dunno about you but I’m gonna go clean up. The rain doesn’t count as far as baths go.”

“You’re so vain,” Odin said, flopping on his bed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, here I thought you’d grown out your need to keep up your… sorry, what was it again? ‘Protective shields of filth’?”

“Hey!” Odin cried, rummaging in his pack for a suitable projectile of laundry to launch at his cousin. “I was eight!”

“Whew, and things haven’t changed much in the last seventeen years,” Laslow said, catching the offending garment and taking an exaggerated whiff. “Yikes. Goodness, do Selena and I need to stage an intervention on behalf of Ophelia’s future laundry? Clearly she won’t be learning anything from you.”

“My next projectile will be sharper,” Odin warned.

“Than what? Your wit? Because if that’s the case I hardly need to worry—” Laslow cut himself off with a laugh as Odin launched himself up from the bed.

“Don’t make me bring forth the old and hallowed _Shadow Strike of Nightmare—”_

With a shriek, Laslow ducked out the door and slammed it closed. A _thud_ sounded half a second later; evidently, Odin had forgotten the existence of momentum.

 _“Curse you, Laslow of the Azure Skies!”_ Odin began, which was as far as he got before Laslow started laughing too hard to hear the rest.

When he settled, he stowed the room key in his pocket, turning away only to find himself face-to-face with a bemused Leo leaning in his own doorway down the hall.

Laslow paused.

Then he grinned, winked, and sent the prince a familiar gesture of peace and goodwill.

A beat passed. Finally, mumbling something that sounded remarkably like “I don’t even want to know,” Leo disappeared once more, his door sounding its definitive click.

“Huh,” Laslow said to himself. “That went better than I expected.” Whistling a cheery tune, he started back down the staircase.

~~~

“Why, if it isn’t _Laslow.”_

If someone in Castle Krakenburg had, at that particular moment, listened especially closely, they probably could have heard Laslow shriek.

“By all the dragons,” Niles sighed, “was that really necessary? You know sounds echo in here—”

 _“Why are you here?”_ Laslow demanded, voice rising with every word.

“You say that like I wandered into the women’s bath…? And from where I’m standing, I don’t see any womanly curves around. Though I will give you credit on that ass—”

_“GET OUT!”_

“We need to talk,” Niles answered instead.

_“NOT HERE WE DO NOT!”_

Niles finally shook his head. “Suit yourself, then. I’ll be waiting. Outside. Don’t try to ditch me.”

Laslow sighed, leaned his head back, and realized there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He scrubbed his towel through his hair, draped it over his shoulders, and hoped his face would eventually stop feeling like it was on fire.

He emerged from the bathhouse to find Niles leaning against the exterior wall, only mostly sheltered from the rain by the roof’s eave, his single eye turned toward the dreary skies. “You’re worse than Lord Leo, you know,” he said conversationally. “And that’s a bar so high I didn’t know it could be topped.”

“Okay,” said Laslow, crossing his arms and quirking a brow.

“You should have seen him when I first met him,” Niles continued. “Skinny little thing, thirteen, this high.” He held his hand out at shoulder height. “Not that the skinny’s changed much, heh. Boy had never seen a tattoo before, didn’t know people got them for fun.” He lifted his left sleeve slightly, revealing where an inked snake curled its way up his forearm. “Pitifully adorable, really.”

“Okay,” Laslow said again, leaning against the damp wood of the wall himself. “Is storytime going somewhere?”

“You puzzle me, Laslow,” Niles continued, his voice still light. “You’ve been here almost half a year and I still don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything about you, your family, where you’re from…” He finally looked over, his gaze piercing. “Or just where your allegiances lie.”

Laslow’s words stuck in his throat for a moment before he could answer. “Lord Xander is my liege,” he said. “My loyalty is to him.”

“We both know that’s a load of horse crap,” Niles replied sharply. “You can’t go a day without Lord Xander getting your knickers in a twist. Not that _I_ wouldn’t be the same, were I in your shoes—the man is _accursedly_ uptight—but you? What are you sticking around for?”

“Does it matter?” Laslow replied. “I’m here, it looks like I won’t be going anywhere for _quite_ some time—” Some hint of bitterness bled into his tone that he couldn’t quite hide, “—so what’s it to you when my job is getting done?”

“Ah, yes. Your _job.”_ Niles’s smirk turned predatory. “Your job of almost offing yours truly down in those caves?”

Laslow bit back a curse; he’d _known_ that would come back to bite him from the moment he’d done it.

“Quite interesting, really,” Niles continued. “I really hadn’t pegged you as the type to strike unprovoked.” Once more, his tone hardened. “Unless of course, that is… you happened to have noticed that invisible soldier _before_ it attacked Lord Leo.” He tilted his head. “Which would be _very interesting indeed.”_

Laslow didn’t answer.

“Lord Leo also told me you were the first to recognize that the voices you heard were illusions. Just how’d you figure that out, hm?”

“I heard someone I knew couldn’t be there,” Laslow said flatly, hoping he kept the surge of angst from his voice. _And she wouldn’t have been calling me Laslow, that’s for sure._ “It wasn’t hard to guess from there.”

“Huh,” said Niles. “Interesting.”

“Is there a point you plan on making?” Laslow snapped.

“Oh, aren’t we terribly eager? I’m _getting_ there. Sit back and enjoy the foreplay, Laslow.” Niles leaned decidedly too far into Laslow’s personal space, then said, “I’ll tell you a secret, Laslow, though you’ve probably already figured it out. _My_ loyalty is to Lord Leo. There is nothing on this earth that would make that waver and nothing on earth he could ask of me that I would not do. If you ever find it in yourself to interfere with that… the rest of your life will be short and very, very _unpleasant.”_ Niles stepped back, a deceptively demure smile taking over his face. “So whyever it is you’re really here, just keep that in mind, yes?”

Laslow resisted the urge to shudder, having to reach into the long-untapped depths of _Inigo the Exalt_ in order to make himself answer. “If you’re so worried about Lord Leo,” he said, “why aren’t you having this conversation with Odin?”

“Because Odin and Selena both answer to you,” Niles replied. “It’s quite obvious, really. Curious, of course, but obvious. That’s a story for another day, I’m sure.” He crooked his finger in Laslow’s direction and started back toward the inn. “But! I am willing to put all our current differences aside. On one condition.”

“And that would be?”

“You help me go cheer up Lord Leo,” Niles said, hardly even seeming to pay attention to the beating rain as they crossed the open ground. “He might be loath to show it, but he’s quite upset about the turn of events regarding Lady Corrin’s birthday.”

“Okay…” said Laslow. “And what’s the catch?”

“So by ‘cheer up,’” Niles said as they reached the door to the inn’s ground-floor tavern, “I do in fact mean ‘bother the hell out of him until he’s too annoyed to keep brooding.’ Sound good?”

 _“Sound good?”_ Laslow asked, stopping short. “Do I look like I want to be impaled by a rose bush?”

“Eh, probably not a rose bush, per se,” Niles replied, leading unerringly up the staircase back to their rooms. “Poison ivy, perhaps?” He stopped at Laslow’s door, gesturing to it. Laslow rolled his eyes and reached for the key.

No sooner had he opened the door did Odin perk up from inside. “Friend Niles! What are you doing here?”

In an instant, Niles’s tone turned brilliantly light. “Oh, we’re about to go cheer up Lord Leo!”

“Hey now,” said Laslow. “I never agreed to—”

“Oh, most excellent!” Odin said, leaping to his feet. “Our dark liege did seem rather melancholy when we did last part ways…” He ducked out the door past both of them, still chattering as he went.

Laslow glared at Niles.

Niles grinned at Laslow.

Odin knocked on Leo’s door.


	26. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Won't you come out, we can paint the town red,  
>  Kill a little time, you can sleep when you're dead,  
> 'Cause it isn't over yet, get it outta your head,  
> Just close your eyes and let me lead, follow me home,  
> To where the lonely ones roam..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did in fact write this chapter in the absolute record time of 24 hours, I have in fact been sitting on it for a few days now, I did in fact just finish the NEXT chapter, and I am very, very happy with my life right now. (Yeah, the move did me good and I have almost nothing to do while my roommate is working and my leather "workshop" is yet to be set up, haha.) So, uh, yeah, I am and probably will be for a bit updating in much shorter order than I've managed in a LONG time now, so enjoy and don't miss the last chapter.

**Port of Jakell, Diabola, Nohr—October 28, 635**

Leo had the most annoying retainers on the entire continent, and that was without Laslow in the mix.

Were peace and quiet  _ really  _ so much to ask for? He gazed out the tiny window his rented room afforded, trying to ignore the fact that Niles was draped on Leo’s bed, Laslow was leaning crookedly against the door, and Odin was sitting in the corner with his knees to his chest.

“Does anybody have a deck of cards?” Laslow asked.

“Laslow, the only way I’m going to play _cards_ with you is if the game is strip poker,” Niles replied, idly tossing one of Leo’s pillows.

“Absolutely not,” Laslow said with a shudder. “Pardon me for trying to find a way to pass the time.”

“Or,” Leo suggested, “we could all just go to bed?”

A beat passed. “Kinky,” Niles said. “I’m game.”

“Gods’ sakes, Niles,” Leo said, rolling his eyes. “I meant  _ our own beds  _ in  _ our own rooms  _ to  _ sleep.” _

“Where’s the fun in that?” Niles asked. “Besides, it’s far too early to sleep, milord.”

“What if,” Odin piped up, “I told the great story of the  _ dark swordmaster of legend defeating the forces of—” _

“No,” Laslow said flatly.

“Why not?” Odin pouted.

“Because we’ll all be stuck here until halfway into next week,” Laslow replied. “Brevity is not among your talents, cousin.”

“Such a great tale demands one not skimp on the details!” Odin cried. “To tell it briefly would be doing it grave injustice!”

“To tell it at all would be grave injustice to my ears,” Laslow grumbled in reply.

“Or,” Leo suggested, “we could go downstairs, get some drinks, and Laslow can make good on his offer to be my wingman.”

A very long moment passed in which all three retainers stared at him like he’d grown a second head. Slowly, Niles got to his feet, crossing the room to Leo and slowly lifting a hand to the prince’s forehead.

Leo swatted at him. “I’m not  _ sick,  _ Niles, knock it off.”

“Ah, and there is the wound, milord,” Niles sighed. “For an instant there I thought you might have truly been serious.”

“I…” Leo managed, his throat suddenly thick. The room abruptly felt  _ stifling,  _ too small for all four of them, and it was plain the other three didn’t plan on leaving him anytime soon.

And what else  _ was  _ there to do, really? Neither Odin’s tales nor strip poker sounded anywhere near appealing and at least downstairs he wouldn’t be subjected to either.

It  _ would  _ likely be what the other three would have done in his absence, wouldn’t it? Grab a few drinks, enjoy the company?

“I was partially serious,” he finally managed.

_ And the other part?  _ he thought to himself. Half of him panicked in response—he was neither Laslow nor Niles, boldly putting himself forth to anyone that caught his fancy.

On the other hand, there  _ was  _ only one person who ever  _ had  _ caught his fancy, as twisted as that fancy was.

Perhaps, he thought to himself with a sudden leap of hope in his chest, his heart had only latched onto Corrin from his own lack of exposure, and the former could be quickly solved by taking care of the latter.

“I mean,” Leo continued, slowly but surely finding boldness in his words, “it’s not like the three of you have suggested anything better.”

A beat passed again before Niles wiped away a single tear. “Lord Leo, long have I awaited the day you would ask me for this.”

Leo huffed and crossed his arms, hoping the gesture didn’t channel his insecurity about the idea too plainly.

_ “But,”  _ Niles continued, “I  _ do  _ believe I was here  _ first.  _ So why is the  _ doomed philanderer  _ your wingman and not the professional? I assure you that my services can be vouched for. I doubt you’ll get the same credentials from that one, milord.”

“Hey,” Laslow cut in. “I  _ extended the offer.  _ Perhaps you just need to be a little more proactive next time, Niles.”

_ “Proactive?”  _ Niles asked, turning back. “Oh, well, since you asked—”

“Well, I suppose milord  _ is  _ eighteen now…” Odin pointed out.

Laslow snorted. “Please, like you and I weren’t investigating Feroxi pubs when we were sixteen.”

“The public drinking age in Ferox  _ is  _ sixteen!” Odin pointed out. “It’s not my fault Nohr is stricter on such matters. Besides, I’m trying to be a good influence on the younger generation.”

“You told Ophelia I was a philanderer!” Laslow cried.

“Which you are,” Niles said. “A doomed one, from the sound of it.”

“He really is,” Odin said.

“Oh, hush up,” Laslow replied, rolling his eyes. “At least the first time I kissed a woman I didn’t stand there blankly gaping afterward.”

“No, you just got a black eye afterward,” Odin retorted. “Which I’m pretty sure is, you know,  _ worse.” _

“Amateurs,” Niles said, shaking his head.

“Ah, one would think even my fourteen-year-old self would have known better than to mess with dear Selena,” Laslow said with a sigh.

Niles cackled. “Your first kiss was  _ Selena?” _

“It was a small town!” Laslow said. “I didn’t have many options!”

“Are we going or not?” Leo cut in a little too sharply.

Three speculative gazes turned on him. “You’re gonna want to ditch the vest,” Laslow said. “You look like a nobleman.”

“I  _ am  _ a nobleman,” Leo pointed out.

“Yes, and you bloody look it,” Laslow said. “And hey, sure, some girls are into that, but you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb down there. You’ll have enough of that working against you as it is.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re adorably inexperienced, milord,” Niles pointed out. “An uphill battle as it is. Laslow makes a point.”

“...I like my vest,” Leo said.

Niles shrugged. “Suit yourself then, milord. Just know it’s buttoned crooked.”

Leo glanced down with an alarmed peep, then back up with an annoyed look at his retainer’s innocent expression. “All right, fine,” he said, shrugging out of the offending garment. “Better?”

“Much,” said Laslow. “Really, milord, we  _ do  _ have your best interests at heart right now.”

“If you say so,” Leo replied dubiously.

“As much as it pains me to agree with Laslow, we certainly do,” Niles added. “What good would it do us to set you up for failure? We’d only have to listen to your bellyaching about it the whole way home.”

Laslow chuckled. “Exactly.”

“I would not  _ bellyache—”  _ Leo began, only to cut himself off at the three amused gazes sent in his direction. “All right,” he said. “If you really insist my status will cause so many issues, then I suppose the three of you ought to drop my title for the night.”

_ “Ooh,”  _ Niles said, lighting up. “We’re on a first name basis now? How very intimate…  _ Leo.” _

Leo pushed at Niles’s chin and the insufferable grin now half an inch from his face. “Personal space, Niles,” he sighed, despite the fact it was surely in vain.

“Whatever for?” Niles asked, deftly swiping Leo’s headband from his hair as he went.

“Hey!” Leo began.

“No no, that’s better,” Laslow cut in as Niles held the headband out of reach. “Much better.”

“All  _ right,”  _ Leo said, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Enough  _ meddling.” _

“You love our meddling,” Niles insisted.

“I  _ tolerate  _ your meddling,” Leo corrected primly. “Can we go now?”

“My, isn’t someone eager?” Niles asked. “Well, no point in denying your deepest desires now, is there?” He linked his arm with Leo’s, already heading for the door. “Then again, I suppose I can’t deny my own anticipation for this moment…”

“This is,” Leo sighed, “the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“Are you kidding?” Niles asked with a grin. “This is the  _ greatest  _ idea you’ve ever had!”

~~~

“So, then,” Niles said when the four had taken a table and Leo had perched himself on the edge of his chair. “Who strikes your fancy, then?”

“Oh, hell no,” Laslow cut in. “Drinks first, ladies second. I’m not coaching sober.”

“Fair enough,” said Niles. “We’ll give Leo a moment to look at the menu anyways.”

“...They serve food here?” Leo asked. He exchanged a blank look with Odin.

Niles and Laslow both sighed at the same moment. “Never mind,” said the former. “Right then, back in a tick. I know just the thing for you,” he said with a wink in Leo’s direction.

“You know my usual,” Laslow said, flipping a coin in Odin’s direction as he too rose to his feet.

“That I do, dear cousin,” Odin replied, catching the coin in midair then giving a bow. He and Niles both shortly vanished into the crowd.

“Okay,” Laslow said after a moment, leaning back in his chair. “Seriously, Leo. Breathe.”

“I  _ am  _ breathing,” Leo retorted. “If I weren’t I would shortly be unconscious. That’s how the human body works.”

“Yeah, you still look like a ghost,” Laslow said. “The point of this exercise is to enjoy yourself. Don’t overthink it. Worst that happens is you find someone cute and they’re not into it. So what? Rejection never killed anybody. Trust me.” He sighed. “I’ve had my fair share…”

“You’ve had the fair share of, like, five or six people by this point, dear cousin,” Odin pointed out upon his swift return.

“Someone has to make up for you skewing the average down,” Laslow replied without missing a beat, taking his drink from his cousin’s hand. “Niles, what in gods’ names is  _ that,  _ the blood of your enemies?”

“Something Leo is going to enjoy very much,” Niles said, setting the drink next to his liege.

Leo eyed it speculatively, then took a tentative sip. “Oh, that is  _ divine.” _

“What  _ is  _ it?” Laslow asked.

“Tomato juice and vodka,” Niles said with a grin.

“Oh, gross.”

“More for me,” Leo said.

“Well done, Niles,” Laslow sighed. “His first proper drink and you’ve already made him an alcoholic.”

“Don’t worry, Laslow,” said Leo. “Nothing will ever replace coffee.”

Laslow snorted into his own drink at that. “Just pace yourself,” he said.  _ “Trust  _ me.”

“Yes, do trust him,” Odin said. “As a matter of fact, I remember the first time he—”

“You know what, don’t even go there,” Laslow cut in.

“These  _ Feroxi  _ pubs of yours must be quite the interesting places,” Niles drawled.

“Indeed they are,” Odin replied.

“Is that where you’re from, then?” Leo asked.

Laslow and Odin exchanged glances. “No,” the former said. “But we spent a few months up there… shortly after we both reached the age at which they start letting you in bars. And had no elsewise adult supervision. It was an interesting time.”

“I’m  _ sure,”  _ Niles said with a grin. He leaned back in his chair, then peered over at Leo. “So. Found anything yet?”

“Found what?” Leo asked.

Niles sighed. “Neither Laslow nor I can do you much good as a wingman if you won’t pick anyone out, you know.”

Leo felt himself flush. “Well… I… what am I looking for, exactly?”

“I’m going to assume the first criteria would be female, unless there’s something important you haven’t deigned to tell me yet,” Niles replied. “And after that… well, the preferences are yours, aren’t they?  _ My  _ first priority is, of course, ample—”

“Right!” Leo interjected, a little too loudly, then sank back into his seat. “Um… I…”

“I think what Niles is trying to ask,” Laslow cut in, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, “is what’s your type?”

Leo’s first blush hadn’t fully faded, yet it still redoubled when his mind only conjured silver hair and vermillion eyes. “I don’t… uh…” He absently spun his finger around the rim of his glass. “...have one?”

Laslow sighed. “All right, so we’re making this difficult.”

“I’ve never understood  _ types,”  _ Odin said. “How do one’s looks correlate to how well their soul will bond with yours?”

“They don’t,” Laslow said. “Doesn’t mean a man can’t have a preference.”

“Besides,” said Niles, “we’re not trying to get Leo  _ soul-bonded,  _ Odin. We’re mainly just trying to get him laid—”

“Okay, no, I never said that!” Leo interjected hotly.

Niles shot him a sideways look and a quirked brow. “Fine. Kissed at the very least. We’ll worry about the rest if it goes well.”

Leo groaned and rested his head in the crook of his elbow.

“It’s really not so hard,” Niles said. “Go find one, say hello, compliment her—”

“On her  _ radiance!”  _ Odin cut in.

“Or maybe, like, her shirt,” Laslow said.

Niles sent them both glares. “Compliment her,” he said again, “and offer to buy her a drink. Then see where it goes.”

“And pray she’s single,” Laslow added. “That’s important. I would know.”

“Yes, you would,” Odin said dryly.

Leo steeled himself, then lifted his head again. “So I just…?”

“Say hello, say something nice, buy her a drink,” Laslow repeated. “It’s almost foolproof.”

“What’s that say about your track record, my friend?” Odin asked.

“You’re not helping,” Laslow told him. “My record is not  _ that  _ bad.”

The other three turned the exact same gaze on him.

“Okay, okay,” Laslow said, linking his hands behind his head. “Point taken.” He gestured to Leo. “Finish your ghastly concoction of tomatoes and liquid courage, then trust us.”

Leo took another dubious sip of his drink.

~~~

“Your shirt looks—”

_ Nice,  _ his brain supplied.  _ Pretty. Lovely. Beautiful. _

What came out of his mouth was “Radiant.”

_ Damn all of you,  _ Leo thought.

The object of his attention tilted her head slightly, plainly looking him up and down for a moment before saying in a light tone, “That’s a new one.”

“Yes, well,” Leo managed to get out before his mouth abruptly disconnected from his brain again. Hold on. Didn’t he have a script? “Can I buy you a drink?”

“My,” she said, flipping a lock of pale blonde hair over her shoulder. “Not even going to ask my name first?”

“Uh,” Leo said.

_ Well, fine, if you’re not going to use me, I’m leaving,  _ Leo’s brain said.

_ No, wait, come back, I need you! _

“Heidemarie,” she offered, extending a hand. “Heida. And yes, you can buy me a drink.”

Leo stared at her hand for a moment like it was a potentially venomous snake, not entirely sure what he ought to do. Had they met in court she would have curtseyed and he would have bowed; there would have been no contact involved. She was far from a lady of court, though, and Leo wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more out of his element in his life. He finally caught it in his own, giving the barest brush of his lips to her knuckles and hoping she didn’t find it improper.

Heida didn’t seem to, judging by the light laugh that escaped her lips and the upturned look she gave him—was that considered ‘fluttering one’s lashes?’ “So,” she said, “do I get to find out your name?”

“Leo,” he answered, a little too quickly. Then, both in mirroring her own introduction and to fill the gap in the air that was normally taken by his title, “Just Leo.”

“Just Leo,” Heida repeated, gesturing to the bar. “After you then, Leo.”

Leo did as she bid automatically, just catching a glimpse of the table where three retainers gave various looks of subtle encouragement.

Heida didn’t speak to him again until after she’d ordered her drink; she settled on a barstool, propping herself on the counter, her hair falling in a thick curtain behind her arm. “So to what do I owe the pleasure, Leo?”

It took a long moment for Leo’s brain to come back from whatever vacation it had taken before he could answer. “My friends,” he managed, “are… meddling.” Ignoring the fact that this entire terrible idea had been Leo’s in the first place, it wasn’t even a lie.

“I see,” said Heida. “Yes, they often have the tendency. I’ve learned to come alone.” She smiled slyly, touching a hand to his forearm. “I don’t always  _ leave  _ alone, mind you.”

“Oh,” said Leo, gaze planted on the spot where she’d touched him.  _ That’s nice, she makes friends. Wait, hang on. _

“What brings you here, then?” she asked. “Business or pleasure?”

“Ah,” said Leo. “Business, technically, although we’ve gotten a bit stuck.”

“Not a fit night out for man or beast,” she agreed. “Or anyone looking for a little company, really.”

“I suppose not,” Leo said.

“Good thing you’ve found your way in here, then. Such a cozy place.” Heida tapped at his forearm again. “Are you planning on standing there the whole night, Leo?”

Once more acting automatically, Leo took the stool beside her, wondering absently why she felt the need to keep her hand on his arm even after he’d settled. If he hadn’t run yet, surely she didn’t expect him to then—

Niles had  _ desensitized  _ him, he realized abruptly. He’d grown so accustomed to his retainer’s promiscuous ways that he hadn’t even  _ registered  _ Heida’s plain interest until she shifted, arching her back slightly in a plain showing of the low cut of her shirt.

In the long moment  _ that  _ realization took to register, another followed—that he really did not have a  _ clue  _ what he was doing. Every interest that had ever been turned in his direction had been with the expectation that he was  _ Prince Leo of Nohr,  _ so obvious that the reason to flatter him laid not with the  _ Leo  _ but with the  _ Prince. _ Yet Heida hadn’t seemed to guess who he really was, or at least gave no indication if she had. She seemed, quite genuinely, to be flirting purely with  _ Leo. _

His title meant nothing in that moment, and held no barrier. A warm flicker of  _ something  _ unfurled beneath his skin.

And then abruptly shattered.

Longing rose in his throat so quickly it choked him, for hair that should have been silver when before him was gold, for warm crimson irises instead of the cool browns that met his.

_ How could he have even considered— _

Regret crashed into him with more force than the storm outside. His body wanted  _ something  _ but his heart demanded  _ Corrin,  _ insisted on nothing less, demanded to know how he thought he could  _ substitute— _

“Everything all right?” Heida asked, her tone still light.

_ Corrin isn’t here,  _ he told himself sharply,  _ and she never will be, and you will NEVER be able to love her that way. _

_ Yet Heida was there, warm and alive and attainable and gods help him if he could just crack off a fragment of the love that ought to be Corrin’s and give it to her perhaps he could feel just a fraction of what he so desperately wanted— _

_ Was this what his father had felt like, when his first queen was still fresh in the ground and he’d suddenly found himself without that which he TRULY desired, but Valeska was there and Isabelle and Josephine and Arete and Sabrina and Delphine and— _

Leo stilled himself, very slowly, his gaze unfocused on some distant point beyond the tavern’s walls.

“Leo?” Heida said again, though her voice now sounded as though it were coming from another room entirely.

“Excuse me,” Leo said, managing to get to his feet without sparing a glance in her direction.

He made it all the way through the tavern, up the stairs, and back into his room before he succumbed to the burgeoning horror.

~~~

“And then I—” Laslow was saying, only to cut himself off. “Oh, hang on, that looked like it was going well.”

Niles glanced over his shoulder, following Laslow’s gaze toward his liege’s ascent of an exit. His brow furrowed; Leo had seemed fine all of fifteen seconds ago when last he’d looked, so how had he…?

“Has our dark liege so quickly drunk from the bitter glass of rejection?” Odin asked, half rising to his feet.

Laslow absently nudged at his arm. “I’m not sure you should…” he began, then trailed off as Leo disappeared onto the second floor.

“No,” Niles said, managing to keep his tone perfectly level as his own chair squeaked backward. “You two stay here.” He dropped his napkin to the table, drink quickly forgotten as he turned to go. “Go… philander or something,” he said to Laslow, then added to Odin, “and don’t blow up the building.”

An offended sound rose in Odin’s throat at that, though a soft smack from Laslow seemed to quickly put a stop to it. Niles rolled his eyes as he turned away.

Leo hadn’t bothered to lock his door—not that it would have taken Niles very much longer to get in if he had. Nor had he lit any lights, leaving the prince’s silhouette only outlined by the weak, wavering streetlights outside the window he stood at once more.

“Everything all right, milord?” Niles asked lightly.

Leo bowed his head slightly, his grip on the windowsill tightening. “I’m fine, Niles, just tired,” he said, though his voice trembled the smallest bit. “You can go on ahead back downstairs.”

“Nah,” said Niles. “I’ve more than had my fill of Laslow and Odin for one night, I think.”

Leo huffed a little at that, though he didn’t otherwise move.

Niles, after a beat, leaned back against the door, crossing both his arms and his ankles. After five years of serving his liege through both royal angst and teenage mood swings, he was fairly sure his mere presence would coax something out of the prince if he just waited a minute.

He wasn’t wrong. “We ought not even be here,” Leo said after a long moment. “We ought to be on a ferry heading home right now.”

Lady Corrin, then. Huh. Not an entirely  _ unexpected  _ train of the aforementioned angst, but not an entirely expected one either. “She’ll understand, milord,” Niles said. “It’s hardly your fault the universe seems to have conspired against you on this trip.”

“She shouldn’t  _ have  _ to understand,” Leo said, a touch too hotly. “It’s  _ one  _ day out of the year that we make  _ certain  _ we’re all there so she can have one day, just  _ one day  _ of respite so she doesn’t have to  _ think  _ about the fact that she’s spent her life in a  _ damned prison—”  _ He broke off, spinning away from the window, not making eye contact with Niles as he stalked to the other side of the room. “And I am, quite possibly, the worst brother in existence.”

Despite himself, Niles couldn’t quite hold back a scoff at that. “Hardly, milord.”

Leo only shook his head as he came into the far corner, then turned on his heel again and resumed his march. “Believe me, Niles,” he said, his tone biting, “you don’t know the half of it.”

Niles shook his head, staying silent once more, wondering just how this rambling rant connected back to the showing downstairs.

“And the worst part is,” Leo continued, “it’s not even her  _ fault.  _ It’s not like she could control who her parents were, not her fault my father decided the best choice was to pass her off as his—”

Niles involuntarily straightened a little at that. He’d had his suspicions for some years now that Corrin was not quite who she seemed to be—hard not to suspect, when the four Krakenburg siblings looked so very alike despite the fact they only shared one parent between them, and their fifth ‘sibling’ had none of those similarities—but he’d never expected to hear Leo come out and actually  _ say  _ as such.

“It’s not her fault,” Leo said again, this time stopping in the corner and staring blankly at the cracks in the plaster. “Not her fault that she… and that I…”

And all at once, everything clicked into place.

_ Have you ever,  _ Leo had asked him, all those months ago,  _ learned something about yourself you find you cannot help but loathe? _

Leo hadn’t quite seemed to register the depths of Niles’s  _ alarm  _ at those words, but then again Leo had never seemed fully able to understand just what a cesspool Niles’s own mind had been when they first met, when the latter had truly not been joking when he’d said he would have rather died than lived. Niles had already seen the offness in his liege’s manner for weeks before that question had been posed, but Leo had seemed… if not  _ happy,  _ at the very least  _ stable,  _ and Niles had let it lie that night.

Then Odin had come crashing into their lives headfirst, and Leo had clamped down even further on himself, and Niles had been stuck spinning his wheels in the mud on the matter, hoping that perhaps Leo could sort out the issue on his own.

But now,  _ finally,  _ it clicked—both where their current conversation had started and where Leo’s utterly out-of-character suggestion for the night’s entertainment had sprung from. A weight of relief fell from Niles’s shoulders.

It all circled back to Corrin.

Niles should have just given his liege a drink  _ months  _ ago.

“So,” Niles said, his tone low and patently gentle. “You’re in love with her.”

Leo whipped back around, his eyes wide and utterly  _ petrified.  _ “I n-never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.”

A long moment passed before a pained choke rose in his liege’s throat, followed by a strangled, “Oh,  _ gods.”  _ Leo’s back hit the wall, sliding down it till he hit the floor and drew his knees to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he got out as he buried his face in his forearms. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Niles asked, bemused and alarmed both as he crossed the room himself.  _ Good grief, he may be entirely more drunk than I thought he was. _

“Sorry that you find yourself beholden to a liege of such despicable inclinations,” Leo mumbled, still not looking up.

Niles barked a soft laugh at that as he lowered himself to the rough wooden floor beside the prince. “Lord Leo, a man of  _ my  _ tastes is hardly going to judge you for yours. And I’m pretty sure,” he added, “that you just told me she’s not actually your sister.”

Leo wiped his eyes on his sleeve, probably not quite as surreptitiously as he’d intended, and finally raised his head. “She doesn’t know that,” he said hollowly. “We’ve never told her.”

Niles shrugged. “You  _ could  _ tell her,” he pointed out.

Leo let out a bitter, watery laugh. “And change what?” he asked softly. “She’s known me as her brother for fourteen years. That would hardly disappear overnight. And even if it would, even if we took all of that out of the equation…” He shook his head. “She deserves far better than me anyway.”

“I don’t know about that,” Niles said, gently elbowing him. “You’re pretty great yourself. I’d take you.”

“Please, Niles, I have no need for flattery,” Leo said, picking at a stray thread on his knee.

“Flattery? Me? Never,” Niles said, splaying one hand over his heart.

Shaking his head, Leo said, “It matters not. We could never… it will never…” He cleared his throat. “I thought I had come to terms with it, but evidently I haven’t quite yet.”

“Oh, come on, then,” Niles said, forcing his tone light. “Eternal bachelorhood isn’t  _ so  _ bad.”

Leo glanced over. “Your version of eternal bachelorhood is hardly… celibate.”

“And did I ever say yours had to be either?” Niles asked. “That sweet little blonde downstairs was very much enjoying your company. Until you ran out on her, that is.”

“Yes,” Leo said, his tone suddenly sharp, “because I am just  _ so keen  _ to repeat the sins of my father.”

Several seconds passed. “Huh,” Niles said. “Five years in your service and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit His Majesty might have negative qualities.”

Leo shook his head. “It hardly does me any good to condemn my father’s shortcomings in public. But the truth is, Niles, you weren’t present during the darkest years of my family’s history, when brothers and mothers turned against each other for the slightest scrap of my father’s attention or the tiniest inkling of higher status. It is a horror I will not allow to be repeated, no less propagated by my own hand. If…” He trailed off. “If my heart truly lies where it does, despicable though the choice may be… Then I believe that eternal, celibate bachelorhood is my best option, and perhaps the only truly safe one to be beheld.”

“You know, milord,” Niles said, “that I will always support you in whatever decision you make.” Leo’s lips twitched slightly and he added, “Although I would have one piece of advice to offer.”

“Which would be…?”

“You haven’t had anything  _ near  _ strong enough for this,” Niles said, getting to his feet. “Back in a minute, don’t go anywhere.”

Leo only shot him a blank look as he ducked back out the door.

Niles’s mission took less than five minutes, as he pointedly ignored Odin and Laslow’s querying looks at his return. Best not to get distracted from an errand so important.

He returned with bottle in hand to find Leo still sitting in the corner, still idly playing with the loose thread that had caught his attention earlier. “Here,” he said, extending his prize to his liege.

Leo shot him a wary look, then took the offering and drank.

And choked.

“Gods’ sakes, Niles,” he finally managed to get out. “What  _ is  _ that?”

“Vodka,” Niles said innocently.

Leo coughed again. “You’re sure it’s not… whatever the  _ opposite  _ of a vulnerary is?”

“You liked it well enough earlier,” Niles said, tone still lilting as he settled back on the floor himself.

“It tasted like  _ tomatoes  _ earlier!”

“Well, that wasn’t strictly the vodka, that was what the vodka was  _ in,”  _ Niles pointed out.

Leo shook his head, eyeing the bottle like it was a dangerous animal as he handed it back over. “I’m fairly sure I just felt part of my soul leave my body.”

“Guess that would explain my spiritual circumstances,” Niles said with a swig of his own. “Or lack thereof.”

For the briefest moment, Leo cracked the barest hint of a smile.

_ Mission accomplished,  _ thought Niles.


	27. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo has a bad morning, finds his life about to be turned upside-down, and then has a very dangerous idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore to myself when I started this fic I didn't need this plotline, that it would add too much drama... and here it is. Whoops. (And no, I'm not referring to the Drama CD about to make it appearance in this chapter, heh.)

**Port of Jakell, Diabola, Nohr—October 29, 635**

_“Niles,”_ Laslow sighed, “what on _earth_ did you do to the poor boy?”

“I didn’t give him _that_ much,” Niles retorted.

“Okay, but that much of _what?”_

“...All right, so it _was_ vodka…”

“Seven hells.”

“I swear to all the gods, Niles,” Leo groaned, “if I could see straight right now I’d have you hung upside down from a tree.”

“Oof,” Niles said mildly. “Salty, salty.”

“How are you _alive_ right now?” Leo asked, leaning his head in his hands. “I’m pretty sure you had about three times as much as I did.”

“Meh, maybe four,” Niles replied with a shrug. “The answer’s ‘practice.’ You’ll get there eventually, milord.”

“I absolutely will not,” Leo answered, “because I am never letting you do that again. And if I ever get the bright idea for a repeat performance, please just spare me the misery and shoot me first.”

“Ah, the first hangover’s always one for the calendar,” Laslow said, stirring another spoonful of sugar into his tea. “The threats are usually worth writing down, too, for future amusement. Drink some of your beloved coffee, milord, and a glass of water, it’ll help. Food only if you feel up to it.”

“I’m not entirely sure I approve of the _existence_ of food right now,” Leo admitted.

Laslow chuckled. “Yup, that’s how it usually goes.”

“So,” Niles said conversationally, leaning back in his seat and crossing one leg over his lap, “just how did you and Odin fare last night, then?”

“Well, Odin started talking,” Laslow said, “and then didn’t stop talking, and then, _amazingly,_ kept talking. However, after a while he’d gained himself a bit of an audience, so yours truly went to bed and had a lovely sleep.”

“All by yourself?” Niles asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Laslow said, trying to ignore the pang that went through him at the question, “yes.”

“Ahh, and the Doomed Philanderer strikes out again,” Niles said with a shake of his head.

“So it seems,” Laslow answered mildly over another sip of his tea, wondering bitterly just _how_ convincing he’d managed to make the persona of Laslow over less than six months.

_As if he’d ever break his vows._

“You are both,” Leo said from decidedly closer to the table than the other two, “entirely too chipper for this hour.”

Laslow only chuckled. “It’s almost ten am, milord.” Then, glancing toward the tavern’s main entrance, he said, “Ah, and speak of the devil that is my dearest cousin.”

 _“Milord!”_ Odin shouted from halfway across the mostly-empty tavern, drawing several gazes from those who were present. “Fantastic news! The ferries shall resume their west-bound journeys within the hour!”

Slowly, Leo lifted his head from his arms and sent Odin the most venomous glare Laslow had ever seen from him.

Odin paused, tilting his head. “Something the matter, my dark liege?”

“You might want to run, Odin,” Laslow said, just as mildly as before. “I think he may be deciding which wall you’d look best splattered over.”

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 1, 635**

It was a cold and subdued group of one prince and three retainers that entered the Northern Fortress.

Laslow had just kicked his feet out his stirrups when Corrin appeared in the courtyard; he stayed mounted for a moment more, admitting to himself it was nothing more than nosiness and wanting a better view.

Leo, meanwhile, had scarcely turned from Hati when he caught sight of the princess—an unreadable expression crossing his face and a sudden stiffness coming to his manner. “Corrin,” he began, then trailed off as her footsteps picked up.

“Thank the _gods_ you’re safe,” Corrin said, her last few strides halfway to running before she flung her arms around Leo’s neck. “We were so worried.”

Leo mumbled an apology Laslow couldn’t quite make out, hesitating for a moment before carefully returning her embrace. Hati, meanwhile, did not seem to appreciate losing Leo’s undivided attention; he nudged at the prince’s back hard enough to send both him and Corrin stumbling.

“Oh, _Hati,”_ said the latter indulgently, sharp contrast to the former’s “Gods’ sakes, horse.”

Laslow, meanwhile, only just barely managed to stifle his laughter.

Said laughter quickly died in his throat as Xander, too, emerged into the courtyard.

 _Damn,_ he couldn’t help but think, only just keeping himself from sighing aloud. Horrors of the past week and a half aside, he’d actually rather _enjoyed_ himself—and he was forced to admit the main reason for that fact was simply that he’d had to answer to Leo instead of Xander. He’d come to realize in the past week that despite their differences, Leo was actually something of a kindred spirit, their night in Jakell leaving Laslow to think of him, in some fashion, like an admittedly haughty younger brother.

Xander, meanwhile, seemed to have deemed himself Laslow’s _father,_ despite Laslow’s unwavering insistence to the contrary.

 _Back to the daily torment of my existence,_ he thought dryly.

“It’s good to see you returned, Leo,” the elder prince said, taking absent hold of Hati’s bridle and ignoring the stallion’s obvious flicker of displeasure at the gesture. “You had us anxious for a while there.”

“We found ourselves in some truly incredible storms,” Leo explained. “They wouldn’t run the Tiefgrund ferries. My apologies for the alarm.” He glanced between the two. “And happy birthday to both of you.”

“Thanks, Leo,” Corrin said, her tone nothing less than genuine. Xander dipped his head in acknowledgment.

After a moment, Leo reached for his horse’s reins. “I’ll take him, Xander.”

“Don’t bother to put him up,” Xander said as he released his hold. “Father wanted us to return to Krakenburg as soon as you arrived. Elise and Camilla have already left for Nestra.”

“Oh,” Leo said, his disappointment audible. “I had rather hoped—”

“It’s okay,” Corrin said, her tone forcibly bright. “We’ll all do something when Camilla and Elise come back, all right?” Her tone turned wicked. “And I think you owe Xander and me some _really_ nice presents, since you missed _both_ our birthdays. Don’t forget,” she finished sweetly.

“You hear that, Niles?” Leo asked without missing a beat. “It’s coming out of your salary.”

Niles didn’t falter either. “It’s not wise to steal from a thief, milord.”

“Yes, yes,” Leo said, then hesitated for a moment before offering Corrin an awkward sort of half-hug. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I know,” she said softly, for the first time the faintest flicker of dejection on her features.

Leo gazed at her for a moment more, then turned away and vaulted back into his saddle just as Jakob emerged from the stable with Skoll.

 _At least I got one final moment of respite,_ Laslow thought, absently sticking his feet back in Scottie’s stirrups and momentarily glad he hadn’t bothered to dismount.

Neither respite nor relief lasted very long though, as they had scarcely cleared the gates of the Northern Fortress when Xander spoke. “Laslow.”

“Lord Xander,” Laslow returned, glancing out of the corner of his eye and Xander drew Skoll up short and gestured for him to do the same. Laslow faced forward again, sending a slightly longing look toward Leo’s trio as they gained ground.

“I trust you behaved yourself,” Xander said after a moment.

 _What was I just thinking about you not being my father?_ Laslow thought bitterly, though his tone was bright when he answered. “Oh, we had a grand time,” he said, though he had already come to the decision that _Niles_ was welcome to take the blame for Leo’s misadventures in Jakell. “You know, milord, if Lord Leo is ever hiring again I may have to hand you my resignation.”

“Is that so,” Xander said, with a dryness in his tone that did not speak of amusement. “I didn’t realize my brother suddenly had need for a third retainer when he’d managed so well these years with only one.”

“Ah, well, probably not, but it was certainly good fun to run off on all my responsibilities for a while,” Laslow said.

“I hope you don’t intend on making a habit of that fun, Laslow.”

_I swear to Naga I have never met a bigger killjoy than you, and I grew up with Frederick as an honorary uncle._

“Because you would do to remember this well. If you ever disobey me and attempt to flee, you will not make it far. I will seek you out, and I will find you, and I will punish you. By any means necessary.”

 _Okay, so Xander? I’ve been back ten minutes. Could you maybe cool it?_ “Oh?” Laslow answered instead, nonchalant. “And just how do you think you would find me?” An unfortunately unrealistic but admittedly delightful image popped into his head of Xander showing up at Dai’chi’s gates to meet Laslow at the side of his painfully unimpressed queen. Ah, that would keep him going for a week or two.

“I would begin by looking into your past, of course. No one gets through life without leaving footprints. No matter how remote their homeland is.”

“Well, you may have a hard time of it, then,” Laslow said with a shrug. “There are very few footprints of mine in this world, and none of them are old. Besides, I don’t know where you’d start with a fake name and appearance.”

A beat passed.

“What?” said Xander.

A voice in Laslow’s head that sounded remarkably like Selena said, _You did NOT just say that._

“Laslow…” Xander began again. “Are you…”

Laslow turned a grin and a light laugh to his liege. “Just kidding! I got you, didn’t I?”

 _That was the worst save in the history of the universe,_ his inner Selena said.

Xander’s face wasn’t any more impressed. “So you think it’s fun to play pranks, do you? Very well. It appears you require stricter disciplinary action.”

“What?” Laslow said with slowly but surely rising alarm.

“I had planned to give you free rein upon your return, but I think a change is in order. You are to report to my chambers at dawn tomorrow morning.”

“What?” Laslow repeated. “Please, no!”

“The longer you protest, the longer your confinement will be,” Xander said flatly. “Understood?”

“Yes, milord,” Laslow answered with a sigh.

He stared at the back of Leo’s head for a long moment, wondering if the second prince would hear him if he just thought _Take me back_ hard enough.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—November 5, 635**

It had been a year, almost to the day, since Leo had accidentally upended his entire life.

He still shuddered when he thought of his ill-fated conversation with his father in the wake of Corrin’s eighteenth birthday, his desperate and frankly stupid plea for her release that had done nothing but set Garon more firmly in his decision to keep her locked away.

If Leo hadn’t done so, would he have been sent to Cheve for two months, inadvertently feeding the fire of their wayward territory’s rage until Nohr had been compelled to conquer it again by force? Would he have earned the knighthood that swiftly grew closer to becoming official?

The thought had distracted him from the spread of papers over his desk, covering every detail of Ellyon he could remember. It had been his best way to fill the past few days; despite the urgency in which he’d returned to Krakenburg, Garon hadn’t _actually_ summoned Leo yet. His frustration only mounted as the days passed on—he could have spent the last four days in the Northern Fortress if he’d known his father was going to take so long to actually require his presence.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a knock sounded on the door. “Come,” Leo said, setting his quill aside and turning toward his door.

It opened tentatively, revealing a bowed Zola in the gap. Leo raised a brow but otherwise managed to conceal his surprise.

“Your Highness,” the mage said, though he directed his words to the ground. “Your Majesty requests your presence in the throne room.”

“Thank you,” Leo said, absently restacking a few of his notes before rising to his feet. “Though I am rather surprised to see you running my father’s errands, Zola.”

“Iago asked me to relay the summons,” Zola said, still not looking up.

“I see,” said Leo. Odd, perhaps, but he couldn’t find it in himself to complain that it had kept Iago out of his room. That would have likely been an unpleasant development, considering Leo’s current mood. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Zola said, disappearing as quickly as he’d come.

Leo stared after him for a moment, then shook his head and started for the throne room.

~~~

To Leo’s surprise, he found the wide double doors to the throne room already open, greeting him first with a broad glimpse of Xander’s back.

His brother half-turned at Leo’s approach, his expression so odd that Leo’s steps faltered. Something akin to both disbelief and pity had painted itself across Xander’s features, giving Leo the abrupt, sinking feeling of a man headed for the gallows.

 _What?_ he started to mouth, though he cut himself off at the slight shake of Xander’s head.

Trying to settle the double-time beat of his heart, Leo turned to face his father.

“Close the doors,” Garon said without waiting for Leo to openly acknowledge him. The king paced the dais rather than sitting on his throne, not even bothering to glance upon his sons. “We will not be sharing this with the public until a few more matters are worked out.”

Leo did as he was bid.

“Shortly before you left,” Garon began as the doors settled into place, “I received word that Lady Gisela had returned to Diabola.”

 _Gisela?_ Leo thought. “Indeed,” he said. “Though I am unsure how long she plans on staying.”

“She _ought,”_ Garon said, “to be staying indefinitely. It has been unwise for Duke Wilhelm to let her stray so long when she remains Diabola’s sole heir.”

Leo glanced sideways and found Xander’s expression as inscrutable as ever. “She is to be knighted in less than two months,” he pointed out. “Perhaps she plans on remaining after such a point? I admit the topic did not come up when I was there,” he continued, “but Duke Wilhelm is still in good health.”

“Perhaps so,” said Garon, “but recent events prove that Diabola requires as much stability as he can currently provide. We cannot afford to risk the largest seat of our military power to an inexperienced hand at the reins when the time comes for her to take them.”

“I believe Lady Gisela will prove competent when the time comes,” Leo said, still not entirely sure where the conversation was headed. “She is strong of will and cool of head.”

Garon finally turned his gaze on Leo. “I am glad to hear you so complimentary,” said the king, “considering the offer I have just extended to Duke Wilhelm.”

Realization struck him so swiftly the floor seemed to tilt beneath his feet.

“I have decided,” Garon said, “that the best way to secure Diabola is a union with the royal line.”

Leo didn’t have to clarify, though he spoke anyway, his tongue feeling almost too numb to form the words. “A union of marriage.”

 _Of course,_ he thought, so distantly it almost didn’t feel like his own thought at all. _Of course._

How perfectly it worked out for Garon, he thought wryly—a way to send his occasionally troublesome younger son away from the capital and, at the same time, expand his own influence in Diabola exponentially. How delightfully short of a chain could he keep their most powerful territory on when said territory’s next heirs would also be the king’s grandchildren? (Leo felt vaguely ill at the mere thought of such.) He couldn’t offer Xander, of course—not when Gisela would have to remain in Diabola and Xander would eventually rule from Windmire, and certainly Garon wouldn’t want to give away the power of making Gisela _queen._

 _And so there was me,_ Leo thought, forcing himself to inhale deeply in a vain attempt to keep the room from spinning and silently cursing his most recent birthday.

It wasn’t as though Wilhelm could _refuse_ the offer once extended, either, whether he wanted it or not; not without invoking the gravest offense of his monarch and whatever retaliation Garon would deem fit.

Leo had never realized until that moment just what a terrifying chessmaster his father could be when he truly wanted to.

He could almost _feel_ his life yank and tear out of the path he’d planned for it and abruptly recenter on this new, unwanted trail.

 _So much for eternal, celibate bachelorhood,_ said a soft, dry voice. Leo shuddered.

He couldn’t even take a page from Camilla’s book on the matter.

“We will make the public announcement when the matter is fully settled,” Garon said, forcing Leo out of his horrified introspection. “I expect it should be so by the new year.”

Leo swallowed, nodded, and forced himself to offer. “I understand, Father,” he said. Then, though the words burned his lips, “I am pleased to so contribute to the glory of Nohr.”

“As you should be, my son,” Garon said, the faintest hint of warm praise in his tone. “You’re both dismissed.”

Leo bowed with Xander, though he let his elder brother offer their farewells. Neither spoke until they were several safe hallways from the throne.

“I am truly sorry, Leo,” Xander finally said. “He mentioned the idea while you were away, though I hardly thought him serious. I told him it was early yet, that you’d only just come of age, but he… was quite insistent on the matter.”

 _Of course he was,_ Leo thought. Betrothal alone would prove a strong bind to Diabola long before vows were ever exchanged. “It’s all right, Xander,” he said, though the words sounded foreign and distant to his own ears. “It’s not as though I was unaware of the possibility. The specifics have caught me off-guard, I admit, but—”

He pulled up short, breaking off, his new reality crashing down on his shoulders like a ton of stones even as part of him desperately denied it. Surely not, surely this wasn’t happening, he was going to wake up at any moment—

“Anyway, I’ll take dinner with you,” Leo said, still feeling weirdly disconnected from his voice. “We can talk more then.”

He hardly waited for Xander’s murmured farewell before striding off through the hallway.

Leo didn’t strictly _run,_ but only just.

~~~

Hati galloped until the sharp November winds drew tears from Leo’s eyes and the terrain grew too treacherous for him to gallop anymore. When the prince finally slowed to a brisk trot, his chest was heaving nearly as hard as his mount’s.

Evidently, Leo had held some aura to him that no one had dared do more than acknowledge his presence between the throne room and the stable, and even Hati hadn’t played any of usual tricks. Leo had merely tacked and mounted, ignoring the small part of him that told him to take the king’s road south until he hit Macarath and Nestra and finally the open sea.

Instead of that ridiculous notion, he’d taken the trail he so frequented with Xander, though neither of them had been up it since the day they first encountered Zola. It took Leo a moment to remember that, though, leaving him pulled up short as he reached the Stoneborn’s final resting place and found the old trail impassable.

Hati finally pulled at the bit hard enough to knock him out of his funk, leaving Leo sighing and reaching for Brynhildr in an attempt to clear the path. The distant clatter of hooves reached him as soon as he freed the divine tome, though, leaving him freezing for a moment before swiftly dismounting.

He _ought_ to have been alone.

He gestured for Hati to stay, creeping toward a ledge that would let him see down to the mountain.

To his surprise, a familiar hearty chestnut picked his way up the rocks.

Leo straightened, not quite able to keep the surprise from his voice as he let himself come into view and called, “Odin?”

Odin glanced up, his face brightening as he halted his horse. “Lord Leo! There you are! I feared for a time I lost you in your blinding haste!”

“I…” Leo began, his brow furrowing. He hadn’t spoken to either Odin or Niles before he’d left the castle, too wrapped up in his own head to have bothered seeking them out. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you, milord!” Odin said, urging Rommie up the trail once more. “I was uncertain of the nature of your swift departure and had no time to consult with my fellow retainer on the matter. I could hardly allow you to face potential danger without backup!” He sent a grin, looking quite proud of himself.

Some part of Leo actually _softened_ a little at the gesture, though all that escaped his mouth was a puzzled, “Er.” He paused, shielding his eyes to the west and realizing they really ought to turn around if he wanted to make it back to Krakenburg before dusk. “Stay there, Odin, I’ll come down to you,” he called.

He closed Brynhildr once more, vaulting again onto Hati’s back and letting his thoughts churn until he’d followed the looping path back down to Odin’s level.

“Thank you for coming, Odin,” he said, surprised at how genuine the words both sounded and _felt._ “You didn’t have to do that.”

Odin shot him a confused look. “Of course I did, Lord Leo. What sort of retainer would I be if I allowed you to face life’s tribulations alone?”

“Ah,” said Leo, nudging Hati back into a walk that Rommie quickly fell in step with. “Not a very good one, I suppose.”

“Exactly!” said Odin. As several long moments passed in silence, he ventured again, “Is something troubling you, milord?”

Leo didn’t answer for a moment. His own retainers didn’t count as the public, did they? Surely Garon hadn’t intended for Leo to keep them out of the loop. Besides, he could swear them to secrecy. “I’m, ah…” he began, the word forming foreignly on his lips. “Engaged. Evidently.”

A beat passed. “Engaged in what?” Odin asked.

Leo sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “To be _married,_ Odin.”

“Oh,” Odin said; then, brighter, “Oh! Truly? Who is to join you on life’s most incredible journey?”

Still finding it didn’t feel any more real when he said it out loud, Leo answered, “Lady Gisela.”

“Really?” Odin asked, then hurriedly added, “Do not mistake my surprise for disapproval, Lord Leo! I find your choice to be of quite high caliber! Lady Gisela seems to be a kind and sturdy soul.”

“It wasn’t exactly my _choice,”_ Leo said bitterly, not quite catching the words before they escaped.

Odin seemed to sober. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Such a match has been arranged for reasons besides the longing of your hearts.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I cannot offer you advice on that, milord, for once my own heart made its murky desires clear enough for me to discern, I did not hesitate to wed that which it so badly yearned for.”

“Yes, well,” said Leo, “I suppose any potentials for ‘longing’ and ‘yearning’ have been taken off the table now.” Another terrible thought seized the breath from his lungs—if he were to reside in Diabola upon his marriage, which he would surely be expected to, how often would he even get to _see_ Corrin? Once a year? Perhaps twice?

He had to forcibly steel himself to keep from sending Hati on an unwavering path to the Northern Fortress then and there.

“Ah,” said Odin. “For that I am sorry, milord. It is truly a thing of great and unfathomable joy to join with the one who your soul fits most perfectly against.” He shrugged. “Though perhaps in due time you may find that Lady Gisela is indeed the one you are molded to suit? I have known some dear compatriots who did not realize how deeply their hearts were entwined until after many long years of friendship.”

 _Or many long years of thinking we were—_ Leo thought, then forcibly cut himself off. “I rather doubt that, Odin,” he said, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Odin nodded. “Well, milord, if sentiment is the best I can offer you I will offer you the best of it. But if you require marital advice I have a few smidgens to offer.”

Leo glanced out of the corner of his eye. Hard to remember sometimes that this unfathomable retainer of his had known more of love and loss than Leo could wrap his head around. “All right,” he said. “Advise away.”

“Do _not,”_ Odin said gravely, turning in the saddle to face his liege, “leave dirty socks within reach of your beloved if you have any tendencies whatsoever toward talking in your sleep.”

A choked sort of laugh rose in Leo’s throat, escaping him in what was possibly one of the most undignified sounds he’d ever made. “Yes,” he said. “I think I can keep that one, Odin.”

“Good,” said Odin. “It is perhaps the most momentous piece of advice I have to share.”

“I appreciate it,” Leo said.

And he meant it.

How strange, he thought, that _Odin_ of all people turned into the single bright spot in that disaster of a day.

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 6, 635**

Finally, _finally,_ the Northern Fortress greeted him properly for longer than the time it would take for Xander to have his horse saddled.

_“Leo!”_

The familiar greeting warmed him, sending some of the weight falling from his shoulders. The prior day’s knowledge didn’t quite leave him entirely, but Corrin’s embrace chased off some of the chill.

“I really am sorry about—” Leo began as soon as she released him, though he quieted at her firm look.

“It’s okay, Leo, really,” Corrin said, crossing her arms. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her stern expression faded into a grin. “And you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I was supposed to come with Xander,” Leo said, “but Father caught him this morning. And by the time I finished my philosophy book,” he continued airily, “he _still_ wasn’t done, so I came ahead.”

“So in other words,” Corrin said, her lips twitching as they left the stables, “you left him behind.”

“He’ll be here soon!” Leo defended himself. “I think.”

Corrin shook her head. “You’re absolutely incorrigible, little brother,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Anyways,” he said, “are you doing well besides?”

“Yeah,” Corrin said. “I’m great.” She shook a few stray flakes of snow from her hair as they came through the main door, ditching her coat in the entrance and already darting up the staircase. “Felicia? Flora? Leo’s here, can you make us some tea?”

“Yes, milady, of course!” came the first answer, followed shortly by “Please leave it to us, Lady Corrin!”

“So,” Corrin said, looking back over her shoulder as Leo made his way after her, “just what amazing presents did you get Xander and me to make up for your absence, anyway?”

Leo shot her a look. “For one, I can’t _tell_ you what I got you,” he said haughtily. “For another, Camilla and Elise are still in Nestra. You’ll have to wait until we’re _all_ here to find out.”

A beat passed. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” Corrin asked.

Another beat. “No, not really,” Leo admitted. “I’m working on it.”

She giggled and shoved at his shoulder as they crossed the threshold into the dining room.

They had almost no sooner done so than a screech sounded from the stairwell, followed by the familiar crash of china on stone that left Leo wincing. “Ah, are you all right, Felicia?” came Flora’s voice, then a soft sigh. “Geez, there goes another teapot…”

“Sorry…” Felicia answered.

Corrin, meanwhile, stifled a giggle and shook her head. “Oh, Felicia…”

“As usual for your servants,” Leo said. “I suppose it doesn’t matter how many times one anticipates it.”

“It really doesn’t,” she agreed. “But I don’t mind. Felicia, Flora, Jakob, and Gunter are as much my family as you, Camilla, Elise, and Xander are.”

“I’m sure,” Leo answered with the faintest hint of discontent.

A long silence dragged out. “So,” Corrin finally said, absently swirling her spoon in her tea. “Has Father said anything…?”

Leo stiffened, having to make a pointed effort not to choke on his tea. “...Anything?” he managed. _Why would Xander have said anything to her if he didn’t think Father planned on going through with it?_

“About…” Corrin said, staring at the table and plainly picking over her words. “Me leaving…?”

A rush of relief and disappointment washed over him. She hadn’t been asking about Gisela. On the other hand… of course, when her _nineteenth_ birthday had come knocking at her doorstep, of course she’d have to ask.

“No,” Leo admitted, though the word burned a little. “Sorry, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh,” she said, still gazing at the wood with discouragement and resignation both in her voice. Then, like she hadn’t quite intended him to hear, “I guess the meadow will have to wait…”

“Meadow?” Leo couldn’t help but ask.

She glanced up. “I read in one of my books that every three years there’s supposed to be shooting stars. I guess you can see them not far from here. I’ve wanted to go watch ever since I was little, but I guess…” She shrugged and glanced away. “Well, three more years isn’t that much longer, is it?”

Leo’s heart squeezed. “When is this supposed to be?” he asked.

“A few more days,” Corrin answered. “The eleventh this year, I think.” Something in her tone said she didn’t just _think,_ and that she’d probably spent more than one night gazing at the date on her calendar and wishing with all her might.

“Sister,” Leo whispered, the word tumbling out as both a quiet reminder and a desperate warning to himself.

Footsteps sounded from the stairwell again, far heavier than either Flora or Felicia’s. “Corrin? I’m coming in.”

“Xander!” Corrin cried, all traces of melancholy gone from her voice as she launched from her seat.

“Hello, little princess,” Xander said as she wrapped him an embrace as strong as the one she’d given Leo. “You’re doing well?”

“Yeah,” Corrin answered again. “Leo asked me the exact same thing, you know.”

“Leo did, did he?” Xander asked, glancing over Corrin’s head to send a stern look to his brother.

Leo, meanwhile, only leaned airily back in his seat and said, “Well, if you hadn’t taken so long to get here…”

Xander shook his head with a chuckle, moving to take a third chair. “Oh, you.”

“You are both,” Corrin said, moving to retake her seat with the slightest hint of a flounce, _“such_ brothers.”

Three identical chuckles filled the air. When they stilled, Leo took the chance to close his eyes for a moment.

 _This_ was home to him in a way nowhere else was. Nowhere else could they truly come together as siblings like they did in the Northern Fortress.

And yet, for the most beloved of his—he forced himself to sternly emphasize the next word— _siblings,_ it was less a home than a cage, and it didn’t seem as though that would be changing any time soon.

When Leo opened his eyes again, Corrin was giving him a fond, appraising look that left his heart skipping a beat.

A very, very dangerous thought popped into his head, of one tiny thing he could _control_ as his own life seemed to spiral ever-further out of his own grasp.

_I want to show her the world outside._


	28. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan revealed.

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—November 7, 635**

“Huh?” Odin exclaimed, halfway to a shout. “Sneak Lady Corrin out of the Northern Fortress?”

“Shh!” Leo snapped, half rising from his desk chair with the force of it. “Not so loud!”

“Yes,” said Niles. “Lord Leo is trying to keep his plan a  _ secret,  _ Odin. Which it won’t be if you shout it at the top of your lungs. Stay quiet, keep your ears open, and listen. Like  _ this.” _

Leo rolled his eyes as Niles leaned practically halfway over the prince’s chair. “Niles? You’re way too close. Move,” he said sweetly, pressing at the thief’s shoulder. Niles sighed and sidled away once more.

“As you wish. That aside, are you sure about this, milord?” Niles dropped his voice. “Sneaking Lady Corrin out of the Fortress, that is.”

A long moment passed before Leo gathered his nerve. “Yes,” he said. “I’m serious.”

“Will it be all right, though?” Odin asked. “To carry out such an exploit, you’ll be taken by darkness and suffer imperial wrath without mercy!”

A beat passed. “Translation?” Niles said dryly.

Odin shot him an offended look, then obliged, “If you do that King Garon will be angry!”

“So then,” Leo said, crossing his leg over his knee and hoping he sounded more confident than he felt, “we’ll just have to make sure we aren’t found out.”

Odin pressed his fist to his mouth, a soft and wordless sound escaping him. “Ah, Lord Leo, your unending daring astounds me!”

“Okay, but,” Niles interjected, “won’t Lady Corrin’s life be in danger if she leaves the Northern Fortress?”

“Eh?” Odin asked, tilting his head. “What do you mean, friend Niles?”

“Ah, right,” said Niles. “No one’s probably told you yet. There’s a magical barrier set up around the Fortress. Lady Corrin would be in danger if she left it. That’s why she stays.”

“We’ll need to bet on the truth of that,” Leo said, linking his hands. “There  _ is  _ a barrier, yes, but I’ve looked at it many times over the years. The most it does is to strengthen those inside. I’m fairly sure it doesn’t have nearly as much effect as we think it does.”

“You can tell that, Lord Leo?” Odin asked.

“The average sorcerer wouldn’t be able to,” Leo said with a haughty note, “but it hasn’t escaped my eyes.”

“...So,” said Niles. “Why would His Majesty tell such a lie, then?”

Leo glanced away. “I don’t know,” he managed to lie. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter. Corrin won’t die from leaving the barrier, and it would only be for a few hours anyway. I just want her to see the meteor shower from the meadow.” He glanced between the two. “You’ll both help me?”

“Of course!” Odin exclaimed. “Ah, such daring and endeavor…”

Niles merely smirked. “You know I can’t refuse you, milord.”

“Good,” said Leo, a hint of confidence building inside him. He straightened his shoulders. “Right, then. We’ll need to talk to Xander. His strength would be invaluable to us in this.”

Despite his bravado, he got the feeling that would be easier said than done.

~~~

“No.”

Even from Laslow’s vantage, it was plain Leo had to fight to keep his voice steady. “Why not?”

“To try such a thing under Father’s nose is preposterous,” Xander replied. An entirely expected answer, of course, but Laslow’s estimation of Leo had just gone up several more notches from the fact he’d even tried. “If something happened to Corrin, what would we do?”

“I told you earlier,” Leo said, his voice tense, “that the barrier around the fortress isn’t—”

“Even so, what if there was an ambush?” Xander pointed out.

“Why would there be an ambush? It’s the middle of  _ nowhere,”  _ Leo pointed out. “Besides, it’s not like she’d be out by herself. I’d be there to escort her.”

“You’re not cut for it.”

Xander’s sharp words rang in the air for a long moment. “Excuse me?” Leo said.

“Your magic is powerful,” Xander continued, “and your contribution to the battlefield is irreplaceable. But I know for a fact that to protect someone while fighting is your weakness. Do you not remember three years ago, when Niles—”

“Yes, I remember,” Leo snapped. “I was also  _ fifteen.  _ That’s hardly the same—”

“Leo, I will not be party to this,” Xander said flatly. “The fact that you came to me at all says that you are unsure of handling it by yourself, does it not?”

A touch of Leo’s righteous fire seemed to fade at that. “It’s—I…”

“As I thought,” said Xander. “You already know I can’t leave this to you.”

_ “...Scary,”  _ Odin murmured from the corner.

“As expected of Lord Xander,” Niles whispered in reply. “Such stubbornness.”

“He must be terrifying when he’s really angry…” Odin continued.

“D’you think?” Laslow mused. “He’s always angry with me, so I really don’t notice much anymore.”

Odin shot him a wide-eyed look. “Laslow of the Azure Skies, on rare occasions I must actually admire you wholeheartedly.”

Laslow shot him a grin. “Why thank you, Odin Dark,” he said. “But those lines on his forehead are getting awfully deep… perhaps it’s time for an intervention.” He stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Lord Xander, there’s no need to be upset. I’m sure Lord Leo only wants—”

“Laslow, do not stick your head into family matters,” Xander interjected with a look that could melt stone.

“...Yes, milord,” Laslow said, hurriedly slinking back to the corner with the other two.

“Wow,” Odin said after a beat, casting a wary glance in the direction of the princes. “He kinda sucks.”

“Oh, didn’t get it when I told you the first six hundred times?” Laslow asked dryly.

“You were awfully quick to retreat,” Niles said, idly twirling a spare coin in his hand.

Laslow sighed. “Retainers are such powerless beings.” He turned back to the important conversation in the room.

“Leo, I understand where you’re coming from, but I cannot allow you to take Corrin,” said Xander. “Understood?”

A long moment passed while the only sound was an incomprehensible noise in the back of Leo’s throat.

“Leo?” Xander prodded again.

“I understand,” Leo finally said.

Xander nodded. “Hearing that reassures me. Listen, we cannot rush things with Corrin. I don’t intend to leave her trapped there forever, but now is too hasty. It is not the time to make a move.”

It took another moment for Leo to answer, his voice stiff when he did. “I see. It’s as you say, Xander. My apologies for taking up your time. Niles? Odin?”

“Yes, milord?” Niles answered.

“We’re leaving. Let’s go.”

“Wait for me!” Odin said, scurrying after them with a wide-eyed final look toward Xander.

Laslow rolled his eyes, crossing his arms when the three had left. “Well, that was over with quickly,” he said lightly. “Suppose Lord Leo’s pretty obedient.”

“Leo is a smart boy,” Xander said, ruffling through a stack of papers and seemingly oblivious to how patronizing his words had sounded. “I might have been a touch strict, but I was only looking out for him.” He glanced up. “That said, Laslow, why are you leaving?”

“I, ah…” Laslow began, pulling up short. “Was going to go guard the door…?”

Xander shot him an unimpressed look. “Sit down, Laslow.”

Laslow sighed, thinking he should’ve slipped away when he had the chance.

~~~

“You’re really okay with this, milord?” Niles pressed the moment they reached Leo’s chambers and were safely away from prying ears. “You could try to persuade him a little more—”

“No, it’s fine,” Leo said. “Any more than that would have been a waste of time. We’d do better to spend that time putting our plan into effect. We’ve only got about four and a half days.”

“I see!” Odin exclaimed. “As expected of our dark liege! Er, putting the plan into effect?”

Niles smirked. “Of course you haven’t given up,” he said with realization.

Leo scoffed. “Of course not. You think I’m going to sit here after being told I’m not cut for the job? If Xander wants to forbid this, we’ll just have to go behind his back as well as Father’s.”

“You really are daring, my liege…” Odin said with wonder.

“...You’re sure about this?” Niles asked.

Leo paused in front of his fireplace for a moment, basking in the warmth before he answered. “I’m sure,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for her. Besides, we won’t be totally on our own. I know Corrin’s servants will help us.” He turned back. “I won’t require you to help me. But I  _ will  _ hex you both to secrecy if you decide to back out.”

“Back out?” Niles asked with a raise of his brow. “Lord Leo, you  _ wound  _ me.”

“I’ve already decided to lend you my all, milord!” said Odin. “I will not waver now!”

Leo let the slightest of smiles tug on his lips. “As I expect of you both,” he said, surprising himself again with just how much he  _ meant  _ it. “Listen, then. We put this into action the night of the eleventh. And no one finds out about it.” He quirked a brow. “And by ‘no one’ I mean ‘Laslow,’ Odin. I can’t risk this getting back to Xander ahead of time.”

Odin blinked. “Keep secrets from my own beloved cousin? Why, I—” He trailed off, then sighed. “Yes, I suppose for such a dark and worthy cause as this I can bind my tongue. I will not disappoint you, Lord Leo!”

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

Deeply engrossed as she was with her novel of daring-do, Corrin didn’t look up the instant the library door opened with its usual squeak. “Is it lunch already?” she asked absently, reaching for where her bookmark laid on the couch cushions, then startling so badly when she actually looked up it fluttered to the floor anyway. “Leo! I didn’t know—you’re already back—no one told me you were here!”

“Ah, well,” Leo said, leaning against the doorframe with his familiar smirk, adjusting the pack slung over his shoulder. “That’s on me, I’m afraid. I sent out a letter last night asking that you remain uninformed of my impending arrival. I needed to have a word with your servants first.”

“A word with my servants?” Corrin asked blankly, pulling up short before her usual embrace. “What do you mean? Why? No one’s in trouble, are they?”

“No,” Leo said with a soft chuckle. “No one’s in trouble. I had a favor to ask of them. Luckily for you, they agreed.” He swung the pack from his shoulder, extending it. “I’m making you a very generous offer, sister. I’m not going to make you wait for Camilla and Elise to get back before I give you your birthday present.”

“My birthday present?” Corrin asked, unable to keep her voice from rising as she took the proffered bag. She turned back, heaving it up on the back of the couch before practically tearing it open.

She paused at the contents, though, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice but not managing to disguise her puzzlement.

“You got me… um… a new outfit?” she asked, holding the garment to the light. It looked like something Flora or Felicia would wear, made of the simple, cheap materials of the working class. What in the world was Leo… She paused, trying to force a smile to her face before she turned back around.

“Technically, yes,” Leo said, still with that insufferable pride in his voice. “Though I rather prefer the term ‘disguise.’”

Corrin froze.

“After all,” he continued, “it will be  _ much  _ easier to sneak you out of here if you look a little less like yourself.”

Corrin spun back around, her eyes wide, the maid’s dress still clutched to her chest. “You’re… going to…” she managed breathlessly, “sneak me out?”

“Well, if these shooting stars of yours only come out every three years,” Leo said, “you’ll be waiting a while if you miss it tonight.”

A half-sob, half-laugh rose in her throat as the dress fell to the ground forgotten and she leaped forward to lock her arms around his neck. “You’re serious?”

“No, I’m Leo,” he said, taking a tentative moment to return her embrace. Gosh, sometimes she swore he was  _ allergic  _ to actually showing affection. “Gods, sister, after this long here I thought you at least knew my  _ name.” _

“You’re lucky I’m too excited to smack you right now,” she mumbled against his shoulder.  _ “Thank you.” _

“Thank me when we’re out there,” Leo said in return. “We’ve got some work to do first.”

~~~

_ “Wow!”  _ Felicia said, pressing her hands up against her chin. “Lady Corrin, you look  _ just  _ like Flora! Just like her!”

“You think so?” Corrin asked, biting her lip and running a self-conscious hand through her blue wig.

“Yes! It suits you!”

“Felicia, that’s rude!” Flora chided. “To say workers’ clothes suit Lady Corrin…”

“Ah!” Felicia exclaimed. “Sorry, Flora… You saying that when you look like Lady Corrin is terrifying.”

“You look good in my clothes, too, Flora!” Corrin said, seeming unbothered by the supposedly offensive comparison.

“Oh!” Flora exclaimed, her cheeks turning faintly pink. “Th-thank you, Lady Corrin! But you’re sure it’s okay for us to swap places?”

“It’s all worked out,” Leo said from his spot on the wall. “We’ve set all the guards who don’t know to be too far away to notice. And we’re all certain on the plan?” Despite their nods, he started his list again anyway. “Flora, as Corrin, will escort me to the gate to say her goodbyes and then return to her room for the night. Then Corrin, as Flora, will simply be returning to Windmire with me to run some errands. We’ll only be seen from a distance, Gunter and Jakob are covering for us, Odin’s made a distraction to keep the guards’ numbers down,” he finished, “and there won’t be any problems.”

“...Leo?” Corrin asked, tilting her head. “I know Camilla and Elise are still away, but… Xander knows about this, right?”

A beat passed. “Well, he knows about the meadow,” Leo admitted. “But I may have told him it was tomorrow. I’ll have one of my retainers send for him as soon as we get there, so it’s a surprise for him too.”

“Oh,” said Corrin. “But, um…” she paused, then whispered, “What if Father finds out?”

“He won’t,” Leo said. “And even if he did, I’m the one who’s going to be in trouble, not you.”

Corrin crossed her arms, taking a step back. “Then I’m not going!”

Leo’s own arms fell to his sides. “What are you saying?”

“You’re my little brother, Leo! You’re not supposed to cover for me, and you’re not supposed to get in trouble on my behalf! That’s my job!”

“Corrin, Corrin,” Leo said gently, taking a step closer. “Seriously. He won’t find out. We’ll only be out for a few hours and everyone who knows about this is too loyal to give us up. It will be fine.” He paused. “I  _ did  _ put a whole lot of effort into this quite spectacular birthday present, you know.” When she still didn’t answer, he dropped his voice even further. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I trust you,” she murmured.

“Good. Then it’s settled?”

Another beat passed. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.” Then, with much more enthusiasm, “Let’s go!”

~~~

From where she rode double with Felicia on Gunter’s borrowed, aging destrier, Corrin wasn’t entirely sure how she managed to keep breathing as they cleared the gate of the Northern Fortress. Perhaps it was the clear, cold,  _ alive  _ air of  _ outside  _ that kept her going.

“No one’s following us,” Leo said, twisting in Hati’s saddle for the ninth time in the last five minutes. “I think we’re safe.” He turned a soft smile in Corrin’s direction. “Nice acting, sister.”

“Yeah,” she managed breathlessly. “I thought my heart was going to stop.” She halted Gunter’s horse and dared truly look  _ up  _ for the first time. “But this is… we made it out? We… we’re really…” A choked laugh escaped her. “I’m outside?”

“Yes, Corrin,” came Leo’s voice, so fond it took her breath away. “You’re outside.”

An untapped sound of pure  _ glee  _ escaped her throat then just as the realization struck her. So what if Leo was sparing with touch and awkward with hugs? He showed his affection by  _ breaking her out of the Northern Fortress! _

“Oh my gosh!” Corrin cried, swinging out of the saddle so quickly she kicked Felicia’s shin on the way over. “Ah, sorry!” she hastily offered, though it didn’t slow her any. She flung herself to the ground, the landing reverberating up her knees though she scarcely cared to acknowledge it.  _ “Leo! I’m outside!”  _ she cried again, flinging her arms out to the sides and spinning in a circle.

“Careful,” Leo chided, and he’d hardly spoken when she caught a rough spot in the ground. She stumbled with a sound that was still more laughter than alarm, falling forward until hands caught her arms.

She gazed up at Leo, wondering just how he’d managed to get off Hati so quickly, and found she didn’t really care. “Thank you,” she said, flinging her arms fully around him again. “Thank you thank you  _ thank you.” _

“You’re welcome,” Leo said, sounding both amused and fondly exasperated.

There was a softness in his gaze that Corrin had never quite noticed before when she pulled away, a tenderness in his manner as he reached to adjust where her wig had come askew. It quickly faded, though, as he glanced away and stepped back, a flush coming to his features as he cleared his throat.

_ Brothers,  _ Corrin thought, internally rolling her eyes. Before Leo had the chance to back off completely, though, she snatched his hand in hers and started off. “Come on, come on!”

“Ah,  _ Corrin—”  _ Leo began, stumbling forward with the force she’d pulled him. Corrin only slowed marginally, glancing back just in time to see Hati toss his head and leap into a trot after them.

“Oh, wait for me!” Felicia called, swinging from her mount’s back herself and tugging the destrier along from the ground.

“They’re here!” came a not-so-distant shout, leaving Corrin to pull up short and cast her head around for it. Hati, too, skidded to a stop, knocking into Leo with a force that would have sent him sprawling were he still not gripping her hand. “Lord Leo, Lady Corrin, this way!”

Corrin brightened even further, which she hadn’t quite thought possible. “Hi Odin!” she called, waving her free hand as she peered through the dark. They were on a long, flat plain now, with no trees until the bank of the river perhaps a quarter of a mile away. Even in the night, it was almost too gorgeous for her to wrap her head around. “Hi Niles!”

“Seems everything went all right,” Niles said when they came within normal speaking distance, the oddest of smirks on his face. “I’m glad to see.”

Leo coughed, hurriedly yanking his hand from Corrin’s grasp and straightening up. “Thanks to you two,” he said primly.

“Ah, it was nothing, my dark liege!” Odin said with a bow. “I am nothing if not distracting! Laslow and Selena can confirm.”

“Making a wig wasn’t hard either,” Niles said. “Just had to scare up a few old contacts of mine. A disgraced craftsman, specifically. He won’t be talking to anyone about it.”

“It looks really natural,” Felicia said, panting slightly as she caught up with the rest of them. “It’s just like my sister’s.”

“So glad to hear it,” Niles said. “I guess it really  _ was  _ worth looking for a corpse with such a similar color.”

Both Odin and Felicia let out alarmed noises and shot him wide-eyed looks.

Niles rolled his eyes. “I’m joking. Calm down.”

“All right, enough banter,” Leo said, reaching back to take hold of Hati’s reins. “Let’s get going.”

“Yes!” Corrin said. “I’m so excited—ah!” She managed to right herself before hitting the ground that time, though a heat spread to the tips of her ears. “Sorry. I guess I’m really not used to these boots…”

“Oh!” said Felicia. “It’s okay! I brought you a change of clothes!” She hurried back to Gunter’s horse, reaching for the bag hanging from his saddle.

Corrin grinned. “As expected from such a capable maid.”

Felicia giggled, a hot flush evident on her cheeks. “Well, it was actually Flora who prepared it… But anyways, these should be better for traveling! At least I think so. Are they okay?”

“They’re perfect!” Corrin said, taking a cursory glance through the bag before snapping it closed again. She glanced toward the treeline again—it was a bit of a walk, but she hardly minded.

“Um,” Leo said, peering over Hati’s neck as the two girls set off. “Where are you going?”

“We’ve just got something small to attend to!” Felicia called.

“We just got out here, what on earth do you have to attend to?”

“It’s dangerous for you to go by yourselves!” Odin called, striding after them. “Let us escort you!”

_ “She’s going to get changed so please leave us alone!”  _ Felicia cried.

A beat passed. “Oh,” said Odin. “Right. Um, sorry.”

Leo rolled his eyes, though Corrin thought she caught the hint of a blush on his face. “Well, come straight back when you’re done,” he said, “and then we’ll send for Xander to meet us.”

“We will!” Corrin promised, sending an absent wave over her shoulder as they set off.

She still hadn’t wiped the grin off her face when they reached the cover of the treeline and she got the feeling she wouldn’t be able to anytime soon. The river rushed louder than she could have imagined—books really referred to that sound as  _ babbling?  _ The trees, too, creaked softly overhead, the slightest breeze giving movement to the relatively mild November night. Stars were sprinkled across the clear sky overhead, no movement visible yet but still achingly beautiful.

“Oh,  _ Felicia,”  _ she whispered. “This is so amazing.”

Felicia sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Oh, Lady Corrin, I’m so glad I get to be here for this!”

With a giggle, Corrin said, “I’m glad you’re here too, Felicia.”

She had only just taken off her cloak and shoes when the wind began to pick up. She curled her toes in the mud, wrapping her arms around herself and taking in the myriad of sensations suddenly assaulting her.

She was  _ outside. _

Corrin finally forced herself to open her eyes again, fumbling with her wig so it wouldn’t catch when she took her shirt off. No sooner had she removed it from her head did a gust of wind snatch it straight from her hand.

“Oh!” she cried, just as the cloak she’d draped over a nearby branch took to the skies as well. “Felicia, watch out!”

Felicia turned around just in time for the cloak to engulf her. A screech escaped her as she flailed to get it off her head; despite herself, Corrin burst into another fit of giggles.

“Sorry, Felicia, sorry!” she gasped out. “You just looked like—oh my gosh, your face!”

Felicia offered a smile that turned into a tentative laugh. “I caught it, though, milady!”

“You did!” Corrin’s laughter pulled up short as she glanced beyond to where her wig had caught on a branch along the edge of the river. “Wait, the wig! I’ve got it!”

“Be careful, Lady Corrin! It’ll be slippery!”

_ Slippery,  _ she thought. Slippery like the towers and catwalks of the Northern Fortress got in the winter, and yet still entirely different. Slippery, cold, beautiful,  _ alive— _

_ Slippery! _

It only took a moment—a moment of leaning too far, stretching too much, placing too much trust in the rocks beneath her feet.

The branch with the wig on it bent and snapped, and Corrin with it, and the river swallowed her whole.


	29. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Don't leave me lost here forever, show me your starlight and pull me through,  
>  Don't leave me lost here forever, I need your starlight to pull me through,  
> Bring me back to you..._

**South of the Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

The river fought her like a wild beast, like the dragons that ruled kingdoms and defeated armies in so many of her favorite novels, and Corrin thought for a moment the river would claim her with the same finality as the dragon’s breath.

She scarcely got her head above water long enough to _breathe_ when the world dropped out from under her, sending her crashing into a pool that struck with the force of one of Xander’s blows and swept her on once more. A rock caught her hand, and another her leg.

She thought she could just make out Felicia’s voice over the river’s roar and she clung to it, fighting to get her limbs working in tandem against the current. Corrin surfaced again with another gasp, struggling to see through the moisture clinging to her lashes.

A rock half as tall as she would have been on the ground sliced up from the water, wide enough to break the current in two. Corrin twisted, nails scrabbling over the stone until she managed to brace her feet against the bottom and bring herself to an unsteady halt, the water still beating at her and threatening by the moment to break her hold.

“Lady Corrin!” Felicia cried, the pack of clothing bouncing against her back as she sprinted down the shoreline. “Hold on, Lady Corrin!”

Under brighter circumstances, Corrin might’ve made a dry comment about that. As it was, she clung harder to the rock and valiantly kept her head up.

“Here!” Felicia called, snatching a long branch up from the ground and stretching it over the water.

Corrin thought, for one terrifying moment, if she missed or Felicia let go, she wasn’t sure they’d have a second chance. She didn’t have long to dwell, though, before she shoved off the rock with a wild lunge for the branch.

Despite the scrape of her hands and a terrifying moment where there was nothing beneath her but water, she came up out of the river choking through her chattering teeth, shivering so hard she was afraid she might just toss what little she’d managed to eat for dinner as she fell to her hands and knees in the mud.

“Oh, Lady Corrin!” Felicia exclaimed, dropping beside her. “You’re all right! Oh my gosh, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d—”

“Th-thanks, F-Felicia,” Corrin managed to get out, wondering how she’d ever thought the weather was nice for November. “For s-saving me.”

Felicia shook her head. “No, it’s my fault, don’t thank me!”

“No, it’s n-not! You warned me and I still s-slipped—” Corrin cut herself off again as the words started taking longer to form on her shaking lips.

“We need to get you changed,” Felicia said with sudden take-chargeness. “Like, right now.”

Corrin nodded and didn’t protest.

She felt marginally better in dry clothes—Felicia quickly tied her hair back in a tight braid, coiling it against the back of Corrin’s head. “Keep your hood up,” the maid said sternly as she passed over the cloak. “Try to keep your hair out of the air.”

Corrin nodded, still shivering slightly as she cast a look upriver. “We’ve got to get back,” she whispered. “But we came pretty far… and I’m not sure we can make it back up that cliff.”

“Oh,” said Felicia, her voice falling. “Well, um… it’ll be all right. Lord Leo will come looking for us, won’t he?”

~~~

Five minutes passed, then ten. At fifteen, Leo made a disparaging comment under his breath about girls and getting ready and then obliged Hati’s rare request for scritches as the stallion draped his head over the prince’s shoulder.

At that point, Niles sidled up, leaving Dubs to graze from the sparse remains of fall grass with a smirk on his face. “So it seems the night is off to a good start.”

 _“Niles,”_ Leo hissed, casting a wary look at Odin and hoping the darkness hid his blush.

“Oh, relax, milord,” Niles said. “I doubt he’s paying much attention. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Niles was probably right—Odin was gazing absently skyward and muttering to himself, paying absolutely no attention to either his liege or his fellow retainer—but Leo still frowned. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” he muttered stiffly.

“Oh, you certainly do,” Niles replied. “You really ought to tell her, you know.”

“I am _not,”_ Leo hissed hotly, “going to _tell her!”_

Niles rolled his eyes. “About your daddy not being her daddy, oh great genius prince.”

“And accomplish what?” Leo snapped back. “Tearing her entire world apart at the seams? If I was going to do that, I should have done it back when I was fourteen. I’m four and a half years too late to take _that_ route, Niles.” He straightened, ignoring Hati’s disgruntled snort as he dislodged the stallion’s head from its resting spot, then said, “Seriously, _what_ is taking them so long?”

“Want me to go check on them, milord?” Niles offered. “I promise to keep the sounds of Lady Corrin stripping to my ears alone—”

“Niles, I swear to all the gods,” Leo said, already striding across the field. “It’s been twenty minutes, they’ve got to be ready by now.” Hati followed doggedly on his heels, his ears still faintly backward in protest to the abrupt end of his scritches.

“Ah, Lord Leo, such a tease,” Niles said to his back, in a tone that said Leo both was and wasn’t intended to hear. “Come on, Odin.”

“Coming!” Odin answered.

“Corrin?” Leo called when he reached the treeline, keeping his eyes cast valiantly skyward and projecting his voice as far as he dared on the off chance he’d been wrong on just how long changing outfits took. “Corrin, seriously, we don’t have all night out here.”

No response.

“Corrin?” he tried again. “Felicia?” He swallowed, brushing a low-hanging branch out of the way, and realized he’d probably misjudged where they’d headed in the dark. “Corrin, come on, I’m not—”

He cleared the other side of the treeline to find himself greeted by an altogether empty riverbank.

“Corrin?” Leo said yet again, this time with a distinct note of panic bleeding into his voice. “Where are you?” He cast a look back as Niles and Odin emerged from the woods as well. “Where could they have—”

“Lady Corrin?” Niles called as well. “This might not be the best time for a delightful game of hide-and-seek.”

“The darkness bids you must reveal yourself more overtly, milady!” Odin added.

“Maybe they just—” Leo began, having to admit that his tone already sounded terrifyingly _desperate_ before a dark shape on the ground caught his eye. He broke into a jog, skidding slightly on the uneven ground.

Shoes.

Flora’s shoes.

Flora’s shoes that _Corrin had been wearing._

 _“CORRIN!”_ Leo shouted again. When only his own voice echoed back at him, he snatched up the shoes and whirled back. “Start looking! They must have gotten disoriented on their way back!” He paused just long enough to stow the shoes in his saddlebag before vaulting on to Hati’s back. “There’s a bridge just upstream from here, I’ll head that way—”

He let his words die in his throat as he wheeled Hati, hardly even waiting for the acknowledgment of his retainers.

Leo shouted until his voice started to crack. He even crossed the bridge he’d mentioned, though Corrin and Felicia would have had little reason to tread that way. He circled back after, resisting the urge to kick Hati into a trot, knowing he needed the slowness to search for details rather than the speed to cover more ground. They were on foot—they couldn’t have gotten _that_ far.

“Niles!” he called as he crossed the familiar shape in the dark, another solid twenty minutes later. “Did you find anything?”

A beat passed. “No,” said Niles, his tone rueful. “I’m sorry, milord, I—”

“Where could they have _gone?”_ Leo asked again, fighting the sudden urge to take his teeth to his nails in a way he hadn’t felt since his mother had decided such an uncomely desire was best fought with switches and bitter oils. “Gods, I should never have let her out of my sight—”

“If we think about it,” Niles said in a tone that was probably supposed to be soothing, “They could’ve gotten lost, or been carted off by something… On the other hand, perhaps we were betrayed by that maid and she kidnapped Lady Corrin.”

“What?” came Odin’s voice as he, too, emerged from the trees. “Really? I don’t think she would…”

“Who knows,” Niles said. “You never can know what someone’s thinking, no matter how demure their appearance.”

Leo fought back the wave of anxiety that washed over him again, finally saying, “Both of you stay here and keep looking.”

“And where are you going?” Niles asked.

“I’m going back to the Northern Fortress to tell Flora what’s happened,” Leo said. “And then I…” He drew in a breath so long he couldn’t help but focus on the rise and fall of his shoulders. “And then I’ve got to go talk to Xander.”

~~~

“Well,” said Corrin brightly, “at least we’re not inside.” She shrugged. “Compared to that, anything’s a plus, right?”

“I guess so, milady,” Felicia said. “Though I hope we won’t be waiting long…”

She had no sooner spoken when there was the distinct rustle of leaves from their left.

Corrin jumped despite herself. “What was that?”

“Probably just forest animals,” Felicia said, though her tone wasn’t quite certain. “A deer, maybe…?”

An unholy roar sounded from the woods.

Twin screams escaped both their throats. “What is _that?”_ Corrin cried as a great, hulking form of sickly red emerged from the trees.

“I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know!” Felicia screeched, stumbling over herself in a vain attempt to get some distance from the creature. Perhaps drawn in by the sound, two more of the things followed in the first’s wake. “Lady Corrin, we’ve got to—”

The rightmost of the creatures stumbled, falling to the ground with an almighty thud. The other two swung on the indistinct form that had felled it.

“Ah, you stinking _lugs!”_ the newly arrived figure shouted. “Bloody found you!” She feinted, then brought her axe up in a mighty swing that cleaved the middle creature halfway apart. The third hesitated, then lurched back in the direction it had come. Corrin thought, for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of her wig on its arm. When and why it had grabbed that, she had no clue. “Oi, don’t go running, you bastard! Get back here! Agh, pains in the ass!”

Corrin blinked, her heart pounding in her throat as an indistinct squeak escaped her.

All at once, the stranger transformed, falling into a demure lady’s posture rather than her broad warrior’s stance. “Oh my gosh, there’s people here?” she asked, her voice abruptly high and silky. “I’m sooo sorry I didn’t notice! Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Um,” Corrin finally managed. “No, I don’t think so. But, um, who are you?”

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

Laslow had gotten off just early enough for it to be of note, and found himself wondering if he had time to sneak in a visit to Soleil in the sudden spare time. He hadn’t been since before their trip to Diabola.

He had scarcely made it two hallways down from Xander’s room, though, when he crossed paths with Nohr’s other prince. “Ah, Lord Leo! Good evening to you.”

On second glance, though, Leo did not seem to be having an especially good evening—there was a hurried stiffness to his gait and a distance in his gaze, so much though that he visibly startled at the greeting. “Ah, Laslow,” he managed.

Laslow stilled, unable to keep the concern from his voice. “Is something the matter? You’re white as a sheet.”

“It’s…” Leo began, then cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. I just need to speak to my brother.”

“Ah,” said Laslow. “I can go tell him you’re here, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” said Leo, still sounding as if he wasn’t quite on the same plane of existence as the rest of them. “That would be good.”

“...All right,” Laslow said, already wondering if he could get away with being a fly on the wall for the upcoming discussion.

~~~

“Corrin’s gone missing.”

Leo had never heard Xander’s voice hit that low, dangerous tone before, and he wished he weren’t hearing it then.

“Yes,” he managed, however sour the word tasted. “Niles and Odin are still out looking for her. She might have just gotten lost, or ended up downstream, or…” He cleared his throat. “While I don’t want to think about it, she could have also been kidnapped.”

At some point in their conversation Xander had risen from his desk; he stood at the edge now, as intimidating of a figure as Leo had ever seen him, and the younger prince wanted nothing more in that moment than to crawl under a rock and not come out again until the world had righted itself.

_“Leo.”_

His name had been spoken with part disbelief, part disappointment, and overall dripping with anger. Leo could not bring himself to look up and meet the face it had come from.

There was a stinging strike to his cheek, and suddenly he had no _choice_ but to look up.

“Lord _Xander!”_ came an aghast cry from Laslow—Leo had barely even remembered he was still in the room—followed by the briefest slide of metal on leather, as if Laslow had gone to draw his blade for the slightest moment before thinking better of it.

Leo, meanwhile, had stumbled back half a step at the blow, fighting back the automatic surge of magic that rose to his fingertips. He had more than a few quick and dirty defense spells so perfectly memorized he no longer needed to even open Brynhildr to cast them and they answered him on pure instinct now—but it was _Xander,_ he ought to have no need to _defend_ himself from _Xander,_ Xander had never _struck_ one of them—

Leo finally managed to control himself, barely, with the thought that at that moment he was probably startled and _scared_ enough to blow off half the west wing of Krakenburg if he let himself cast anything.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?” Xander demanded. “You lied to me, went behind my back, told me it was _tomorrow_ so I wouldn’t suspect your absence—if anything happens to Corrin I will never forgive you!”

“Xander—” Leo got out, too gasped and too unsteady.

“Do you think,” the elder continued without pausing, “that if Father finds out about this there will not be _consequences?_ He will flay you alive, Leo!”

“I know that!” Leo cried. “Gods know I know that! And I don’t care! He can lock me away in my own tower, he can banish me from Nohr, I don’t _care_ —”

_“Leo!”_

“Do you think I wanted to lie to you? Could you just step back for _once in your life_ and try to see things from my perspective—”

“What perspective?” Xander shot back. “What is this? Are you so upset with Father, so selfish you cannot handle that he is called in upon your royal duty and asked what almost every one of our ancestors has had to submit to at some point or another that you’ve given in to indulge in this petty rebellion?”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Leo snapped, halfway to shouting then. “This has nothing to do with Gisela, nothing to do with Father, and everything to do with Corrin! I couldn’t give up on taking her outside, which maybe you would understand if you had just _seen her face—_ seeing her caged there any longer would break my heart—”

“Don’t _pretend_ you did it for Corrin’s sake when it was for nothing more than your own selfish desires—”

“So what if it was?” Leo demanded. “I wanted to show her the meadow!”

“Did you ever think about the fact that she could have _died?”_

_“I thought I could protect her!”_

_“Clearly you couldn’t!”_

A long, echoing silence dragged out in the wake of Xander’s words. Leo took in a shuddering inhale, all-too-aware now that his entire body was trembling, his hands balled into fists, a dangerous ache building behind his eyes. Gods, he hadn’t argued with Xander like this since the day he’d first learned of Corrin’s true past.

He didn’t think he’d felt so righteously _infuriated_ since that day, either.

“So,” Leo finally said, his voice so painfully flat it bordered on sounding dead. “You just want to see her trapped in that damned fortress forever.”

Xander opened his mouth, though for once in his life Leo pressed on over top of him.

“Not even able to see a _meadow_ that’s _twenty minutes away from her_ that she’s wanted to visit since she was a _child,”_ he continued, voice slowly but steadily rising by the word, “for one _single night?_ And you think that’s _just fine by you?”_

“I don’t,” Xander said lowly.

And the dam finally burst.

 _“Then why are you so determined to leave her there?”_ Leo demanded, past shouting and into well and truly _screaming._ “She’s nineteen years old and all she wants to see are the stars, Xander! That’s all she wants even if she deserves a million times more! I should be able to take her to see forests and cities and mountains and I should be able to bring her to the Diabolan tournaments and the Cyrkensian opera house but I _can’t,_ Xander, I _can’t_ so I did the _one thing I could_ and I _refuse_ to let you tell me I’m in the wrong for doing the _one and only thing I can for her!”_

“Stop trying to change the subject!”

_“I’M NOT CHANGING THE SUBJECT!”_

Those five words spent him, ending at last in a muted, choking sob. Leo almost couldn’t bring himself to care—how childish, how _foolish_ he was to be standing there in Xander’s room with tears rolling down his cheeks trying to fight a battle he knew he could never win.

And the worst part was it would have all been _worth it_ if it hadn’t so quickly gone south, if all the night had held was that beautiful, delighted _Leo! I’m outside!_

Xander, finally, sighed. “That’s enough,” he finally said. “I thought more of you than this, Leo.”

Another soft sob, not quite buried; another wave of _stupid, immature, idiot._

“At least Camilla and Elise are too far to hear of this,” Xander continued, brushing past Leo and heading for the door. “The only time we’ll send them word is if Corrin is dead.”

 _Oh gods,_ thought Leo, not quite able to voice it as the reality crashed into him again. She could be dead already—kidnapped, carted off, and slain rather than risking to hold her for ransom when the majority of the kingdom didn’t even know of her existence—

“Lord Xander, where are you going?” Laslow asked, abruptly reminding Leo of his presence once more. _Oh, gods,_ he thought again, with the sinking realization the retainer had been silently privy to his own meltdown.

“Is it not obvious?” Xander snapped in return. “I’m going to look for Corrin.” He strode from the room, the door clicking shut in his wake.

“Agh,” was all Laslow answered; then, “Damn him.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, though Leo didn’t dare look over his shoulder to check. A beat later, the door opened and closed once more.

Leo found himself left only to his grief and folly.

~~~

Laslow had only just thrown his saddle over Scottie’s withers and yanked the girth tight a little too quickly when the clatter of hooves up the aisle reached him.

He cursed under his breath, ducking out of the stall with only a prayer for his saddle to remain intact and darting down the barn. “Lord Xander! Wait!”

The barn was all but abandoned at that point, though Xander still kept his voice low as he turned around to glance over Skoll’s withers and snap, “What is it, Laslow?”

“Lady Corrin,” Laslow said, despite the many, _many_ other things he would have rather said. “Where are you going to look?”

“Places she would go,” Xander answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Places she would—” Laslow repeated, then cut himself off with a huff. “That’s _ridiculously_ vague! You’ll never find her!” He came around Skoll, crossing his arms. “You ought to go back upstairs and hear what Lord Leo has to say—”

“There’s nothing to hear!”

“It sounded like there was quite a bit to hear, if you ask me!” Laslow shot back.

“I did _not_ ask you, Laslow,” Xander said lowly, already turning to push past Laslow, “and you have quite some nerve to be lecturing me.”

“Oh, I do, do I?” Laslow asked, abruptly so full of his own rage it seemed to take up some of the eight-inch height gap between retainer and liege. “Well I daresay you had quite some nerve when you _struck_ your _brother!”_

Xander spun on his heel just quickly enough, his hand just raised high enough, that every instinct in Laslow’s body sent him stepping backward and reeling for Falchion’s hilt.

“What?” he demanded in a tone that could send lesser men running. “Am I next? Try me. I won’t hold back this time.”

“Are you _threatening_ me?” Xander asked in utter disbelief.

“Force must be met with force,” Laslow replied. “Aren’t you the one who told me that was the immutable law of the world? I’ll only go as far as you do. Take your shot.”

Finally, slowly, Xander lowered his hand, eyes still narrowed. Laslow, too, let his grip drop from Falchion.

“If you’re so desperate for my respect, _milord,”_ Laslow said after a beat, “you damn well better do something to earn it. Your crown doesn’t count. I’ve met far too many people who are painfully unworthy of the titles they bear.”

A beat passed.

“I’m going to help,” said Laslow. “For the sake of Lord Leo and Lady Corrin.”

“Laslow,” Xander said as he turned away once more, “how many princes and princess of Nohr do you think there once were?”

Laslow took a moment to answer, thrown for a loop by the complete non-sequitur. “What?”

“My father took mistresses,” Xander said, directing the words toward the stable walls. “Many of them. Years ago, I had so many siblings. Some had accidents, some were executed, one was taken to Hoshido… most were caught in the power struggles between their mothers. I regretted so many times that I could not keep them safe.”

Another beat passed before Laslow let out another astonished _“What?”_

“It was a thing of great horror,” Xander continued, “that ate us all alive until only the four of us remained. If anything happens to Corrin, Leo will not escape unscathed. I cannot even begin to imagine the depths of Camilla and Elise’s grief. And I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening.”

Laslow gaped like a fish for yet another moment, too caught up in the shock to fully register the anomaly. When he caught it, though, he immediately blurted, “The _four_ of you?”

Xander froze, and the reaction confirmed far more than Laslow was sure he wanted it to. “Five,” the prince said quietly.

“The _four_ of you,” Laslow repeated with surety. No _wonder!_ No wonder Corrin looked nothing like her siblings, no wonder she was locked away from the prying public eye who might make one too many connections. She wasn’t just a bastard, as Selena had suggested—she wasn’t even Garon’s child, period. “Because Lady Corrin isn’t _actually—”_

“That’s _enough,_ Laslow,” Xander snapped, swinging the stable door open with a little too much vehemence. “I’m going to look for Corrin. You clearly cannot understand and have no right to interfere.”

Without another word, he swung into Skoll’s saddle and set into the night.

Laslow stared after him for a moment and shook his head. “You bloody arrogant bastard,” he muttered to himself, turning back down the aisle to fetch Scottie.

~~~

**Southeast of the Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

Their impromptu savior had introduced herself as Charlotte, a member of the National Defense, and was now leading them down a trail she assured them led out of the forest and toward the Northern Fortress. At least there, Corrin hoped, they could regroup with a surely panicking Leo.

“So you said your names were Felicia and Flora?” Charlotte asked as they walked. She hadn’t dropped the weirdly coquettish manner that she’d adopted as soon as she’d noticed them.

“Yes!” Felicia said.

“Um,” Corrin whispered aside to her maid, dropping back a little to speak privately. “My wig’s gone. I don’t really look like Flora anymore.”

“I know,” Felicia whispered back. “It can’t be helped, I guess. If His Majesty found out you were out here, we’d be…” She broke off with an eloquent shudder. “We’ll have to make do with using her name.”

“What are you two whispering about back there?” Charlotte asked, turning a smile over her shoulder.

“Um, nothing!” Corrin said. “We were just… working out how to say thank you! For saving us!”

“Yeah!” Felicia agreed. “And, um, what _were_ those things?”

“Oh, they’re Faceless,” Charlotte said. “Weird looking ones, though. We’ve been having problems with them for a while now, but those red ones only showed up on patrol tonight. We thought those damn things were sticking to Diabola,” she said with a scowl, though she quickly perked up again. “It’s _suuuuch_ a bother, because they won’t bring out the royal guard for it, so it gets passed on to the National Defense.”

 _Diabola?_ Corrin thought. The Diabolan Faceless Leo had been studying for months now? Surely he would have mentioned if they’d strayed _this_ far from home. “I guess they must really rely on you,” she said, wishing Leo had told her more.

“Oh, not at all,” Charlotte said breezily. “We’re just the sacrificial pawns.”

“Huh?”

“Well, think about it. There’s only so many royal guards. Losing them makes news, lowers morale. There’s lots of us, though, and we’re not nobility. We’re disposable.”

“Oh,” said Corrin. That didn’t seem _right_ to her, even if it did make an odd sort of sense. “I’m sorry.”

“Not like it’s your fault, maid,” Charlotte said with a shrug. “I just hope Benny’s okay.”

“Who’s Benny?” Felicia asked.

“He’s my partner. He’s built like a lion with the personality of a kitten. I’m just hoping he hasn’t died of fright somewhere out here.”

“I’m sure he’s fine!” Corrin said a little too quickly.

“Heh, thanks. I don’t have any intention of dying either. Speaking of…” Charlotte trailed off, casting a disgruntled look at the sky. “Ew, rain? Really? My hair’s gonna be a mess.” Corrin was half-tempted to curse it too, if only because she still hadn’t fully warmed up from her dip in the river. Charlotte sighed. “Anyways, here. I’ve got a sword and a couple of knives. You two better take them.”

“Huh?” said Corrin, even as she reached automatically for the offered blade. It felt oddly familiar, if a little lighter and less sturdy than those she used to train with Xander.

“Well, like I said, I don’t want to die,” said Charlotte. “So you two better start looking out for yourselves. In exchange, you don’t have to look out for me.”

Corrin swallowed, curling her hand tighter around the sword’s hilt.

“Sorry to bring up something so disturbing,” Charlotte said, shrugging and starting on again. “But out here, you need to be prepared to face death.”

 _Prepared to face death,_ Corrin repeated to herself with a shudder, wondering how a single night could have fallen apart so quickly on her.


	30. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't wanna let you go, but I can't stand to watch this,  
>  I don't wanna let you know, but you can read my mind,  
> I feel it all the time, felt it all around you, you had me under spell right from the start  
> Blind, I fall into the line that's waiting just to get you  
> But I don't ever know just what we are, I don't have a telepathic heart..._

**South of the Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

Xander hadn’t acknowledged when Scottie had caught up with Skoll; on the other hand, he hadn’t sent Laslow away either, which was perhaps marginal progress.

“It’s starting to rain,” Laslow said, several minutes after the rain had already started. He hadn’t dared to speak up beforehand. “I brought an extra cloak if you want it.”

“No,” said Xander. “Save it for Corrin. She will be struggling in this weather.”

Laslow sighed and shrugged. _Suit yourself,_ he thought. Then, after several more seconds, “So. Who knows about Lady Corrin, then?”

Xander shot him a death glare visibly even through the slowly thickening mist of rain.

“Lord Xander, if I weren’t right you’d have come up with a much more coherent denial by now,” Laslow said. “You slipped and I’m smarter than you give me credit for. I’m not going to unthink the thought now that I’ve had it. Lady Corrin stays in the Northern Fortress because His Majesty doesn’t want it getting out that she’s not his daughter. How close am I?”

Then, very grudgingly, “You’re not wrong,” Xander said, “but if I any follow any rumors of such back to you, Laslow—”

“Yes, yes, I’m not gonna sell it to the highest bidder,” Laslow said, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t sure just how far reaching the implications of such intrigue were yet and he likely wouldn’t without several more hours of serious thought that he couldn’t currently give the issue, but he wasn’t _stupid._

Xander sighed. “Camilla and I have known from the beginning. Leo learned of it when he was fourteen. Any burning questions you think you have may be directed to the three of us, though I cannot guarantee you will find answers to them. Elise is as of yet unaware and you will mention nothing of the sort to her.”

“Duly noted,” Laslow said. “And Lady Corrin?”

A long silence answered him.

“Geez,” said Laslow. “And I thought my family was a mess.” At least there wasn’t any time travel involved in the Nohrian line—so far as he was aware. They crested a hill and he squinted at the building revealed at the foot. “That,” he said, “looks like an old thieves’ hideout to me. What?” he asked at Xander’s look. “I’m friends with thieves. I know a few things.”

After a moment, the prince urged his mount down the hill. “I’m going to investigate,” he said. “If you don’t wish to, go home.”

“You know I’m not going to do that,” Laslow muttered, nudging Scottie after.

They dismounted almost in sync, picking their way over the shattered glass that covered the porch.

“Seems quiet enough,” Laslow murmured as he peered through one of the busted window frames. He shifted the door, wincing at the squeak of long unmoved hinges. He stepped in, Xander on his heels, before the faintest of rustles reached his ears. “Wait—”

The roar gave him just enough warning to draw Falchion and pivot, catching the brunt of sinew with the familiar bite. “Hardly thieves—” Xander began as the glow of Siegfried flashed through the room.

“Faceless,” Laslow bit back, already craning his head for the next foe. More were emerging, steadily, though he didn’t have time to ascertain just where they were coming from. Then, as he caught a clearer glimpse of his first corpse, he got out, _“Diabolan_ Faceless? What are they doing this far west—Lord Xander!”

The first glimmer of panic was quickly eclipsed by the second—Xander’s open flank and Laslow’s instinct to defend it that he doubted anything would have usurped it at that point in his life, followed by the realization that he’d moved _far_ too quickly to keep a handle on himself and a swell of magic rose abruptly to the surface.

The second glimmer of panic was quickly eclipsed by third—the song in his head cut off with the same swiftness it had begun as the Faceless’s blow struck true, claws slicing through cloth and flesh alike as though it were warm butter.

Laslow let out a wordless yell, half stumbling back into Xander, only muscle memory lending Falchion’s swing any semblance of technique over the surge of pain and adrenaline.

He dimly heard Xander say his name over the ringing in his ears, though he pushed himself upright again and aimed an admittedly sloppy blow toward the next Faceless. “I’m fine!” he choked as Siegfried’s dark glow whipped toward another foe.

Laslow felt slow—painfully, _dangerously_ slow in a way he hadn’t felt since long before Anankos’s gifts. For a moment, just as the last Faceless fell, he had the terrifying thought that he’d somehow _broken_ it without so much as speaking his name. He sucked in a breath, felt another wracking wave stem from the grooves gouged through his stomach, and thought _Probably not._

“Is that all of them?” Xander asked, just audible through the feel of cotton stuffed in Laslow’s ears.

“Looks like,” Laslow managed. He pressed a hand to his middle, just registering in the dark that his glove came away slick. “You’re not hurt?” he asked at the very moment his knees wobbled. He let out a hissed curse—he needed to sit, _now,_ before his head hit something particularly inconvenient on the way down.

“I’m fine,” Xander said, the boards creaking under his feet as he picked his way across the room.

“At least something’s gone right on this miserable night—” And down Laslow went, landing on his rear with another hiss and a bump that jarred him from the inside out. _Dammit dammit dammit,_ he thought, resisting the urge to curl up and forcibly leaning his head back against the crumbling plaster wall he’d found himself against.

“Laslow?” said Xander, a hint of genuine alarm in his tone as he spun back around. “Are you—”

“I’m all right,” Laslow said hurriedly, though it sounded far from convincing. “Really, I’m—”

For once in his life, he forced himself to fall silent at Xander’s frown as the prince squatted beside him. “This is from when you covered me?”

Laslow let out a half-hearted attempt at a laugh, plucking idly with his free hand and whatever laid beneath it and wondering absently why it felt like _hair,_ of all things. “Well, even I can’t be perfect all the time, milord.”

Xander scoffed, bringing the hem of Laslow’s cloak around to serve as a makeshift bandage. “I’m going to tend the bleeding. Bear with me.”

“Ah, don’t bother,” Laslow said. “I’ll only slow you down.”

Xander glanced up with a sharp look normally reserved for Laslow’s gravest transgressions. “Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

Laslow rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying leave me here to _die,”_ he said. “I’m hardly at that point. I’ve got vulneraries in my saddlebag. Just let me rest for a bit and I’ll make my way back.”

“This is hardly a wound that might be solved with a handful of vulneraries and a nap,” Xander chided.

“And you’re hardly going to find Lady Corrin traipsing about like this,” Laslow shot back in the same tone.

Xander huffed. “Laslow—”

“Could you just,” Laslow cut in, “maybe _not_ dismiss everything I say out of hand simply because I’m the one saying it? For once?” he asked. “I’ve lost family as well, Lord Xander. I know how it goes. I know how much it _hurts._ And I would have never made it through without help. Go back and talk to Lord Leo and work _together._ At least then you’ll have a chance of—”

“That’s enough, Laslow,” Xander said quietly.

Laslow leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and blew out a breath through pursed lips. There was just no helping some people, he thought.

Then, softly, “We’re closer to the Northern Fortress than Krakenburg by now. We’ll head there. Can you ride?”

Laslow blinked his eyes open once more. “Huh?”

“It is as you said, Laslow,” Xander said, which was possibly the most miraculous sentence that had ever come out of his mouth. “I need to return and work with Leo. I can hardly accomplish that waiting around here.”

“...Well,” Laslow said after a very long moment. “Yeah.”

Xander shook his head. “And to think I was convinced by the likes of you,” he said. “You… have my thanks, Laslow.”

 _Huh,_ thought Laslow, as Xander slipped an arm beneath his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. _So this is the weirdest thing that’s happened to me since I’ve been here._

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

Leo had gone back to the Northern Fortress. He hadn’t known what else to do.

He’d caught Niles just off the road still a few minutes south and found his retainer had still no news for him—the thief had come along back to the Fortress, though, in hopes of reconnecting with the other searchers.

The rest of the ride had passed in deathly, suffocating _silence._

“I’m sorry, Lord Leo,” Flora said, dipping her head almost the moment Leo stepped into the courtyard. “I’ve been searching around the castle myself. Jakob and Gunter are out looking as well, but so far there’s no sign…”

“I see,” said Leo, tying Hati rather than wasting the time to untack. His voice sounded so lifeless to his own ears he wondered if he’d spent every ounce of emotion he had to give earlier with Xander.

“I’m sorry,” Flora repeated, her eyes downcast. “It’s because she was with Felicia that this…”

“Is that _so,”_ Niles said, his tone oddly testing.

“Niles, what—” Flora began.

“If your _sister_ had been a bit more capable this wouldn’t have happened,” Niles said, crossing his. “While I just _hate_ to give voice to the idea, it’s not so far-fetched to think the two of you arranged this, now is it? You, the voice of innocence, Felicia the kidnapper…”

“What?” Flora said aghast, taking a step backward. “We would never do that!”

“The vehemence of your denial only makes you look more suspicious,” Niles replied, closing the gap again with the same sized step forward.

“Niles, enough,” Leo muttered.

Niles glanced back. “Milord?”

“You have no evidence for your accusations,” Leo said, not quite able to break himself out of monotone no matter how hard he tried. “You’re just trying to throw blame around right now. And I have already said that this is my responsibility. Apologize to Flora.”

A beat passed before Niles ducked his head. “My apologies,” he said stiffly.

“It’s nothing,” Flora replied, her own voice just as tight.

Leo closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “We’ll go over it again. Niles, you haven’t found any evidence of bandits, have you?”

“No, milord. Nothing suspicious, and no signs of any struggle where we last saw Lady Corrin and Felicia. No footprints besides theirs, either. The chances of them being kidnapped from there are quite low, unless our foes have some form of transportation magic at their disposal.”

“Transportation magic,” Leo repeated dully, the weight of it hitting them again. They could have all of _Nohr_ to look through if that were the case. He glanced down as his boot caught a crack in the flagstones, feeling a sick double-time beat in his heart. No one ever _had_ fixed the split in the stones he’d accidentally made from growing Corrin her pseudo-meadow two summers back, and he stood now on the very spot he’d fashioned the massive oak she’d immediately decided to climb.

_He’d been in love with her then, of course, just far too naive to realize it._

“Lord Leo!”

Odin’s voice said it wasn’t the first time he’d called, and it equally betrayed that he did not bear good news. “Odin? What is it?”

“Lord Leo,” Odin repeated, panting slightly as he pulled up short. Leo hadn’t even heard the gate open for him. “We have a problem. There’s Faceless in the woods. _Diabolan_ Faceless.”

“Diabolan…” Leo began. Then, breathlessly, _“What?_ Here?”

Odin nodded, both quickly and solemnly. “Only just tonight. The National Defense’s gone out in force between here and Krakenburg. I ran into a guy about halfway down the road to Windmire.”

Several beats passed why Leo tried to wrap his head around that. _“How?”_ he demanded. “They’re sure it’s the Diabolan Faceless and not the usual breed?” At Odin’s nod, he shook his head. “It would’ve taken them months to come overland, they couldn’t have taken the river, how are they _here?”_

Unless their summoner had decided to move closer to home…

Leo paused at that, almost entirely unable to work through those implications—and the implications of it to start _tonight,_ of all nights—when his head was full of so much else. “Corrin and Felicia could’ve been picked up by the Defense,” he mused. “In which case they’re sitting tight… but they wouldn’t know who she _was,_ especially if she’s still trying to pass as Flora, and there’s no _guarantee_ they’ve run into soldiers… and they could still very well be out in the woods with bloody Diabolan Faceless…” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Dammit, I can’t _think!_ We’re just standing here when they could be under attack at any moment!”

“Ease yourself, Leo.”

Leo spun around, the same defensive surge of magic in his fingertips as earlier, and he had just enough awareness to _hate_ himself for such a reaction to his brother’s voice. But his cheek still ached, let alone his pride—

“Laslow!” Odin cried, already closing the distance to his cousin. “What happened?”

“Ah, well,” Laslow said, managing an ungainly and plainly ginger slide from his saddle as soon as he and Xander cleared the gate. “Wasn’t quite so quick on my feet as usual today, my friend.”

Odin surged forward, propping himself under Laslow’s shoulders the moment the other stumbled. Xander, too, swung from his saddle with a terse, “Flora, tend him.”

“Of course, Lord Xander. Get him inside,” Flora said to Odin. “First floor parlor.”

“What happened?” Leo asked, though he couldn’t quite look Xander in the eye.

“There are Faceless in the woods,” Xander answered.

“Yes, Diabolan Faceless,” Leo replied, unable to help but stride inside after the others. “Odin told me. The National Defense is out, so we’re hoping—” He broke off as his voice cracked. “We’re hoping Corrin—”

He gave up completely that time, trying not to get stuck in the endless train of _my fault my fault my fault, she’s out there in the cold and the wet and the fighting and it’s all my fault—_

“Leo,” Xander said softly. “I am sorry.”

Leo stopped in his tracks, blocking the hallway as the other four continued on to the parlor. “Huh?”

“I was carried away by my emotions,” Xander admitted in a low tone, casting his own look down the hallway. “And I ought never have raised my hand against you—”

“No,” Leo said. “No, it’s my fault—you were right, you told me I shouldn’t and I still did, I’m the reason she’s—”

“Enough,” said Xander. “We’ll discuss that later. Right now our first priority is finding Corrin, and for that you have my wholehearted aid.”

Leo swallowed. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then, forcing his feet back into motion, he managed to ask, “How is Laslow?”

“While normally I might not complain about such a beautiful lady in such close proximity,” came the voice of Laslow himself as the two princes cleared the doorway, “I should probably inform you that I’m married.”

A very long moment dragged out.

“He’s more delirious than I first believed, apparently,” said Xander.

Odin coughed. Quite loudly. “Yes,” he finally managed to squeak out. “Very delirious.”

“Eh, less delirious than you’re delusional, Odin,” Laslow retorted from his spot on the couch, still with the slightly incoherent note of healing magic in his voice. “Just patch me up enough to send me back out, Flora, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going to send you out without a proper healing—”

“They need the hands,” Laslow said, abruptly much more coherent. “I’ll be fine.”

“He’s right, Flora,” Xander added. “Do as he says.”

Flora nodded, though she looked a bit chagrined. After a moment, though, she asked, “What is this?”

It took Leo a long moment to realize just _what_ she had worked free from where it was caught on Laslow’s belt. And when he did—

“Is that Corrin’s wig?” he asked. Then sharply, desperately, “Niles?”

Niles stepped forward, reaching for it. “The color… these materials… this is undoubtedly the wig I had made.”

“Where were you?” Leo asked, rounding on Xander. “Where did you find it?” When Xander told him, he murmured, “So they drifted that far…” Then, automatically, he began, “We have to—”

He broke off then, looking at Xander with the abrupt realization the call was not his to make.

“We have to what, Leo?” Xander said instead, gently. “The decision is yours.”

“...Mine?” Leo asked. “Are you sure?”

Xander nodded.

“Then,” Leo said, “we’ll backtrack to where you and Laslow were attacked, then split up from there.”

He could only pray to every god he could think of he’d made the right call.

~~~

**Southeast of the Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 11, 635**

Corrin had started shivering again.

The dry clothes had helped for a time, but the night seemed to grow more bitter by the minute and the chill of the river was slowly sinking back into her bones. She’d lost track of how long they’d been wandering, putting one foot steadily in front of the other until Charlotte pulled up short.

“Oh.”

“What?” Felicia asked.

“I may have taken a wrong turn.”

“Oh,” Felicia echoed.

Charlotte sighed. “Once we took that left there should have been a tree stump, and from there the exit…”

“Maybe you’re distracted from leading us?” Felicia ventured.

“Of course not!” Charlotte said hotly. “I’m just not on my game… we’ll just have to backtrack. And—” She cut herself up, a hand flying up.

“Is there something wrong?” Corrin whispered.

“Shh,” Charlotte said. “Look to the right… slowly.”

Corrin did, and shivered again. “It’s those… Faceless,” she whispered, trying to get a headcount of just how _many_ creatures were spread across the clearing and quickly giving up. _Oh no._

“There’s so many,” Felicia murmured.

“So _this_ is where they’re coming from,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t think the buggers were making it all the way from Diabola… They’re just spreading. Ah, but we’ll do no good without allies. C’mon, you two, we’ll head back.”

“Um,” Felicia began. “I’m not sure we _can_ head back.”

Corrin looked up and realized immediately what she meant. _We’re surrounded,_ she realized, her mouth going dry.

She watched, distantly, as Charlotte slipped back into a warrior’s stance, axe at the ready. Felicia, too, swallowed and then withdrew one of the knives she’d been given.

And that was all the time they were given. The first Faceless charged only to find itself cleaved by Charlotte’s axe; the second fell to the first of Felicia’s daggers.

That, finally, spurred Corrin forward. She fumbled her borrowed sword from her belt, though the familiar weight didn’t settle her. This was _nothing_ like her bouts with Xander and she wasn’t sure she knew how to—

Felicia screeched, her foe batting her dagger from her hand and her wrist bending with a sickening crack, and Corrin’s panic momentarily gave way to a springing leap forward on her friend’s behalf. “Felicia!”

Her sword struck with a _horrible_ feeling that reverberated all the way down her arms, nothing at all like the clash of Xander’s practice blade on hers or even the hit on a particularly sturdy training dummy. This foe _howled,_ spraying awful black blood from the chunk now missing in its side, and it was only the echoing voice of her elder brother’s training in her head that kept her moving. _Quick on your feet, little princess, a stationary target is far easier to hit—_

Corrin swung again, desperately, and this time the Faceless moved no more.

Her chest heaved in the space they’d gained, her gaze casting wildly toward Felicia. “I’m sorry, Lady Corrin!” she cried, clutching at her swiftly bruising wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, Felicia! I just—” Corrin paused, whipping her head around, and saw the opening. “Hey!” she shouted to Charlotte. “Can you get Felicia out of here?”

“What?” Charlotte shouted back, cutting down her next Faceless with a befuddled look cast over her shoulder.

“You told me to look after myself!” Corrin called back. “So that’s what I’ll do! You can take her and go find help!”

“What? Are you out of your _mind—_ kid, you’ll die!” Charlotte shouted.

“I’ll be fine! My brother taught me the sword, I can hold them for a—” Corrin’s blade plunged into another Faceless, still just as terrible as before but somehow more natural than the first. “Please just go!”

“Lady Corrin, no!” Felicia cried.

There was a long silence, then a wordless cry from Charlotte as a hot spray of _something_ Corrin really didn’t want to think about hit her back. Corrin whirled back to find the enemy behind her impaled on Charlotte’s axe.

“What are you doing?”

“Ugh, I don’t know!” Charlotte groaned. “I don’t want to die out here but I also don’t want to see your face every time I try to sleep, all right? You take the guys in front of you and I’ll take the ones in front of me, got it? Get over here where we can protect you, Felicia!”

“Um… Got it!” Corrin managed, the three of them falling in just before another wave crested them.

She wasn’t sure how long they fought like that, back to back—but she was slowing, surely and steadily, her arms aching from the effort and cold sweat dripping down her brow.

_How much longer could they hold off?_

She had no sooner had that thought when there was a yelp and a dull thud behind her. Spinning toward the movement she caught from the corner of her eye revealed Charlotte’s axe now buried in the ground, the distance seeming impossibly far compared to the next knot of Faceless.

Corrin didn’t think. She didn’t have time to.

 _“Hey!”_ she shouted at the Faceless, abruptly bolting in the opposite direction of the axe in hopes of giving her newfound friend time to retrieve it. “Over here, you big bullies! This way!”

Shouts of dismay echoed from her companions. The Faceless followed her anyway.

And that turned out to be a very bad thing.

The rain had turned the ground slick, and the mud caught at her feet, toying with her stride. She was slow, too slow, but maybe she could still give Charlotte enough time to—

For the second time that night, Corrin slipped, her shoulder wrenching as she flung herself around a tree in some valiant attempt to keep herself upright, and she had no time to straighten when five Faceless descended on her at once.

There was one horrible, breathless moment where she realized it was fruitless yet raised her sword again anyway—

_“CORRIN!”_

—and watched, inexplicably, as trees sprung from the ground beneath all five Faceless, branches tearing and shredding their flesh and leaving nothing but gristly carnage in their wake.

It took Corrin an embarrassingly long moment to wrap her head around it, choking in a breath before it occurred to her she’d only ever seen Brynhildr used for the most frivolous of party tricks until that very moment.

Her head whipped around, eyes locking first on where Xander was still mounted, Siegfried flashing through the dark, then on where Leo had flung himself so quickly from Hati’s saddle that his far stirrup had come with him to land on the near side of the seat. _“Corrin!”_ he shouted again, and as abruptly as he’d first appeared there was no distance at all between them, her face buried in his neck and his free hand tangled in the back of her cloak. The other still gripped Brynhildr with its heavy cover pressed to her back, one leatherbound corner catching her awkwardly between the ribs. “You’re all right? Tell me you’re—oh gods Corrin I’m sorry—”

“I’m fine,” Corrin gasped. “I’m fine, Leo, I’m fine—you _c-came,”_ she choked out.

“Of _course_ I came,” Leo returned, his own voice shuddering. “I will always—” He broke off, suddenly reacting to something she could no longer see—twisting to keep his left hand still across her shoulders, gripping Brynhildr by the spine, his right whipping around to blast an arc of purple energy across the clearing. _“I will erase you!”_

In that instant—as Leo’s uncanny bellow echoed through the clearing and another half a dozen Faceless went flying through the air like hapless marionettes—Corrin came to the abrupt realization of just _why_ he went on so many missions for the king and how he’d earned his knighthood so quickly. It coalesced in strange contrast to the familiar image of him she was so used to, all sarcasm and formality and mismatched buttons.

Because at that moment, awash in Brynhildr’s divine glow, Leo was the singular most terrifying sight she had ever seen in her life.

And yet only an instant later he tugged her in again, close enough for her to slide her arms underneath his cloak and tangle her fingers in the folds of his shirt, and Corrin had never felt _safer_ in her life.

There were a few distant shouts from the forest—either Xander and Leo’s retainers, she hoped, or some more of the National Defense—when Xander’s voice reached her, plainly still mounted but only just behind Leo. “You did well, little princess. Let us handle the rest.”

Corrin nodded, holding back the sudden, ridiculous urge to sob when a shriek that reached octaves no human should be able to hit reached her ears.

 _“What?_ Prince Leo and Prince Xander? What are you—what are you— _what?”_ Charlotte screeched.

“Are you part of the Defense?” Xander asked, seeming unruffled by her reaction. “You’ve done well here. I am sorry to ask, but please lend us your strength for a little while longer.”

“Ah… yeeeeah… of course!” Charlotte said, her voice rising in pitch once more. It looked briefly as though she fluttered her lashes at Xander before going back into the fray.

It was another long moment before Leo finally released his grip on Corrin, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Stay here,” he said softly. “We’ll finish this.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond before he turned on his heel and strode into the night, every inch the battle-hardened sorcerer she had never glimpsed before.

~~~

“Soooooooo,” Charlotte said, having sidled back up to Corrin when all was said and done. “You’re not really just a maid, huh?”

“Um,” Corrin began. She curled up tightly on herself again, colder than the battle had let her realize. “Well, I’m…”

“Oh, I’ve got it figured out,” Charlotte said with a wink. “Felicia called you Lady Corrin… so you’re nobility, yeah? And you’re engaged to one of the princes…?” She smirked. “I’d ask which one, but the scene from earlier made _that_ pretty obvious.”

 _Scene?_ Corrin thought wildly, sure her cheeks were turning a stunning shade of burgundy. Did she mean when Leo…? “No, no, that’s not… I mean, I’m not… Er, I mean, Leo’s just my—”

“No need to play dumb,” Charlotte said. “I _promise_ I won’t tell anyone. But hey, just make sure you introduce me to the other one, all right?”

“No, wait,” Corrin tried again. “Gosh, you’ve got it all wrong!”

Charlotte didn’t seem to notice, giving a mad grin and a giggle that was honestly slightly disturbing.

Leo, meanwhile, had spent the last several minutes crouched on the ground, studying it with a cool light from Brynhildr; Corrin watched as he straightened now, striding back over. “That should be the last of them,” he said. “This isn’t set up for continuous summoning the way the one in Ellyon was. It’s spent itself out.”

“That is reassuring,” Xander said.

“Reassuring in that they didn’t make their way from Diabola,” Leo replied, his tone clipped. “Less reassuring in that the sorcerer behind all this is getting closer to home.” He shook his head. “Still, at least that ought to be the end of it for tonight.”

“Oh, thank _goodness,”_ Charlotte said, clasping her hands in front of her heart. “It was just so _scary_ before you came and saved us! I don’t know what we would have done!”

“There’s no need to be modest,” said Xander. “You fought well. Thank you for protecting these two.”

“Yes!” Felicia piped up from where Flora was mending her wrist. “You were amazing! I don’t know what we would have done without you…”

“Yeah,” said Corrin. “I really don’t.”

Charlotte turned pink at the praise, stammering something out, while Leo tilted his head and was plainly about to add his own to the mix when Corrin abruptly decided to tuck herself back into his side again.

“Corrin?” Leo asked, somewhere between confusion and alarm.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s just… you’re really warm.”

A beat passed before his tone softened. “Corrin, you’re _frozen.”_

“Well I k-kinda… fell in the river,” she admitted.

“Gods above,” Leo muttered, and Corrin distantly heard Xander call for Laslow and ask if he still had his spare cloak, which he did, and even after it had been draped over her shoulders and she was wearing Xander’s fleece-lined gloves she found she didn’t really care to move from Leo’s side. He sighed, eventually, moving his arm around her shoulders so she could half fit under his cloak as well as he offered his input into the current conversation that she had almost completely tuned out of. Something about horses and how to arrange them when there were only five mounts and nine people.

It was all kind of cozy, really, despite the circumstances, and even on her feet she found herself resisting the urge to drift off on Leo’s shoulder.

~~~

“This will need to be reported back to the National Defense,” Xander said. “And Charlotte here should be escorted back to her unit.”

“Ah, we can handle that,” Laslow said, despite the fact he was currently wishing that Flora had given him a _little_ more than a patch-up job. He wasn’t exactly in danger of dying, but he was more than a little sore. Still, with how close the timing had been, he supposed he was in no position to complain. “Come along then, sweet?” he offered to Charlotte.

“Laslow,” Xander said. Laslow cringed automatically, then followed as the prince gestured him to the side. “When you make your report,” he said under his breath, “Corrin is not to be mentioned. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, milord,” Laslow answered. He glanced over at Corrin herself, trying not to make it obvious that he was giving her his first ascertaining look since the _very interesting_ information Xander had dropped on him earlier.

It made sense, though. Well, it made sense in a sick, twisted sort of way that said he still didn’t have nearly all the pieces in the puzzle but even still he wished, _again,_ that he’d come to this world as Inigo instead of Laslow and he could afford to give Nohr’s king some very long-winded pieces of his mind.

Still, he thought. There was little to be done for it now, and he needed much, much longer to think the matter through when his head was less fuzzy with exhaustion and pain. He wondered if he was about due for one of those peculiar, unexplainable instances where he could sleep for sixteen hours straight rather than six, then wondered what sort of lecture Xander would give him for _that_ particular quirk in his biology.

Whatever. He’d be happy with six hours of sleep then. Or even two, really.

Laslow happened—only just happened—to catch a glimpse of Leo’s face before he turned fully to go. It brought him up short.

There was a _look_ to Nohr’s second prince, plainly writ across his features and utterly, painfully familiar for all that it had been the depths of the Valm War when Laslow had worn that face. Five years or a lifetime—it wasn’t an expression one forgot.

And that, too, made far too much sense.

_“Lady Corrin stays in the Northern Fortress because His Majesty doesn’t want it getting out that she’s not his daughter.”_

_“Leo learned of it when he was fourteen.”_

_“Seeing her caged there any longer would break my heart—”_

Leo’s shouting match with Xander, seemingly so out of character at the time, suddenly made _far_ more sense when juxtaposed with his expression at that moment and the gentle drape of his arm over Corrin’s shoulders.

 _Oh, Naga help the boy,_ Laslow thought with a squeeze of his own heart in sympathy. Odd, perhaps, but it made _sense_ in the same way Corrin’s parentage did—and four and a half years since learning of said parentage was surely more than enough time to turn hopelessly, inescapably _lovesick._

Laslow shook his head slightly and turned away. He could be wrong. It could be a trick of the dark, stormy night.

He didn’t especially think he was.

Still, that was another problem for a better-rested mind. Laslow made his way over to the other two retainers and Charlotte, resisting the urge to wince as he went.

Charlotte herself, meanwhile, was batting her eyes in the direction of _Odin,_ of all people. Part of Laslow wanted to laugh. “Sooooo,” she was saying, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “What do you look for in a woman?”

Odin gave her a _very_ blank look. “Huh?”

Niles, meanwhile, gave her a none-too-gentle shove as he passed. “Come on, then, let’s go.”

Charlotte let out a _kya_ sort of sound, then a petulant, “Don’t _push_ me!”

Niles only rolled his eyes, continuing on and then sidling up to Scottie when they’d reached where they’d left their mounts—he’d lent his own Dubs to Flora and Felicia for their ride back to the Fortress, leaving the stockier Scottie and Rommie to take the greater loads of the remaining four riders. “So,” the thief said, leaning very obviously into Laslow’s personal space as the latter took hold of his mount’s reins. “Shall we let the lovebirds share?”

It took Laslow’s slightly addled mind to catch up with the fact that Charlotte _hadn’t_ been deterred from her attentions in an increasingly befuddled Odin. Laslow sighed, shook his head, and wondered what on _earth_ made her think she was good enough for his cousin, then offered Scottie’s reins to Niles. “Have fun.”

With that, he strode away, taking Rommie’s reins from Odin’s hand without resistance, then hauling himself up into the chestnut’s saddle with the aid of a conveniently placed log.

“Uh,” Odin said, cutting in on whatever it was Charlotte had been trying on him then. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just get up here,” Laslow said, rolling his eyes.

“Who invited you to my horse?” Odin challenged.

“Technically he’s my sister’s horse. And the answer is me, myself, and I. That’s the greatest thing about me, dear cousin. I offer the gift of my presence with no prompting required.” He offered a wave to Niles. “Scottie occasionally enjoys making spontaneous altitude changes, just so you’re aware.”

Niles raised a brow as Charlotte finally seemed to give up on Odin and make her way over to Scottie. “Spontaneous altitude changes?” he asked. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ask Lord Leo,” Laslow replied as Odin, too, gave up and hopped on Rommie. “From what I hear, Hati is very fond of them as well.”

Niles muttered something that was probably less than flattering about Laslow as he shifted Scottie’s reins. _Ah, worth it anyway,_ Laslow thought to himself.

~~~

“I’m sorry!” Felicia burst out when the silence had dragged to unbearable levels. “I should have fetched the clothes when they flew away, instead of letting Lady Corrin… she wouldn’t have fallen, and none of this would have happened!”

“No, but I’m the one who slipped, even after you warned me!” Corrin cut in, straightening with her vehemence. “Don’t blame yourself!”

“Don’t cover for me, Corrin,” Leo murmured, his face grim when she tilted her own to look at him. “Xander knows what happened.”

“Indeed I do,” Xander said, before Corrin could protest that this was _exactly_ what she’d told Leo she didn’t want to happen before they left. “But we’ll discuss that later. Better to return to the Fortress now and get some rest.”

Corrin thought to protest again, though she broke off as Leo gave a gentle tug to her shoulders. “Come on, Corrin,” he said softly.

She nodded, following, still pressed against him and half-buried in his cloak, though he miraculously didn’t seem to mind. _Brothers,_ she thought to herself, figuring it probably was for the best to save her arguments for the warmth of the Northern Fortress. She paused, though, when it registered just where Leo was leading her. “Wait. Do I get to ride Hati?”

“I’d rather you were on Skoll,” Leo said, not quite releasing his grip on her as he went to gather his mount’s reins with his free hand. “But Xander’s going to pony your maids, who happen to be riding a mare, which is not an option for me unless I fancy being maimed by a hormonal stallion.”

“Skoll’s a stallion, too,” Corrin pointed out.

“Skoll doesn’t seem to remember that fact,” Leo returned dryly.

Despite herself, she grinned. “So I _do_ get to ride Hati.”

“Double with me doesn’t _quite_ count, Corrin.”

“Don’t be petty, I’m still sitting on his back,” Corrin retorted, about to stick her tongue out in his direction before she let out a startled _“Oh!”_

Leo glanced at her, then up, following her gaze. She wasn’t quite sure when the rain had stopped and the skies cleared just enough to be visible, but the first streak of light falling across the open black stole her breath.

“Ah,” Leo whispered. “I suppose it is about that time.”

 _“Oh,”_ she breathed again, transfixed by the sight.

Leo spoke again, his voice chagrined. “It’s not the greatest view—”

“It’s okay.”

Then, his tone even softer, “I’m sorry this went so wrong.”

“Don’t be.” Corrin squeezed at his waist. “Just being able to see all this is…” She trailed off, unable to find a word. “Rivers and forests and shooting stars… It’s more than enough.”

A soft chuckle sounded from behind—Xander had rejoined them when she wasn’t paying attention. “My, your expectations are rather low.”

“No, they aren’t!” Corrin protested. “I have lots of things I want to see! Dawn over the mountains and dusk at the seashore and pink trees blooming in the sunlight…”

Leo seemed to stiffen the slightest bit at the last. “Pink trees?”

“It’s something… I can just remember,” Corrin said. “Big trees covered in blooming pink flowers.”

A beat passed. “Corrin, that isn’t…” Xander began.

“Ah, knowing you you probably dreamed it,” Leo said.

“I didn’t!” she said. “And someday I’ll go and see them.” She nodded resolutely, then followed the path of the next shooting star across the sky, ignoring how her neck was starting to cramp from the angle. “Ah, I made a wish on it! That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

“What did you wish for?” Leo asked.

“I can’t _tell_ you that!”

“Why not?”

“I know better than that, Leo!”

“Let’s go, you two,” Xander said with finality.

“Coming, Xander,” Leo answered, and Corrin let him nudge her back toward Hati.

 _Someday,_ she thought again, hoping wishes on stars really did come true, _when I’m free, let me see these stars again with everyone I love._


	31. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I was only in my mind, you were on the outside waiting,  
>  I could feel you all the time, your voice could save me,  
> Now all these sirens sing for me, but I just want to hear your melody,  
> I call and I can hear you sing but it's only my echo..._

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 12, 635**

It was after midnight by the time Niles, Odin, and Laslow arrived back in the Northern Fortress, and despite Laslow’s best efforts to the contrary his cousin had beaten him to retiring by an impressively solid margin.

Still, Odin opened the door when Laslow knocked. “Hey,” the latter said, hoping his voice stayed steadier than his feet. “Hate to ask, but d’you mind doing another patch job on me? Pretty sure something opened back up while we were out there…”

“Shouldn’t you go see Flora, then?” Odin asked, though he opened the door wider and gestured Laslow in anyway.

“She’s busy with Lady Corrin,” Laslow answered. “They’re worried about hypothermia with her having been out there so long. Didn’t want to stick my nose in it.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve lent my aid to the ailing and infirm,” Odin warned, though he was already heading to scrub his hands in the corner washbasin.

“Seriously, Odin, just slap some bandages on it and get me through the night, I’ll get it healed properly in the morning. And I’m not infirm.”

“You’re about the same shade as Lady Corrin’s hair right now,” Odin shot back, toweling off his hands.

“And her hair is a truly delightful shade to behold,” Laslow returned, dropping a little too heavily to the edge of his cousin’s bed.

“Not on  _ skin.”  _ After that comment, Odin fell silent for a moment, rummaging for the healing supplies they all kept perpetually nearby out of habit from a long-dead world. Then, softer, “Laslow, are you all right?”

Laslow shrugged. “Well, I was doing a bit better before I had to throw myself across Lord Xander’s  _ wide open flank.” _

Odin huffed obligingly, though after he gestured Laslow to lean back he replied, “That’s not what I meant.”

“I mean, could do with a good night’s rest—gods above, Odin, some  _ warning?”  _ Laslow winced, only keeping himself still out of long practice at the stinging cold touch of disinfectant.

“Sorry,” Odin said. “Thought you were looking.”

Laslow had quite pointedly  _ stopped  _ looking when his wounds were bared, as a matter of fact, though it hadn’t kept him from glimpsing the four wide strokes now crossing his stomach.

“They’re gonna scar,” Odin pointed out. “Especially if you leave them overnight.”

“I figured,” said Laslow. “I don’t mind. I’m still kinda weirded out to not have all my old ones.”

“I can try to sneak a stave out of storage,” Odin offered.

“Nah. Knowing you, you’ll rediscover your proclivity for a certain specific variety of staves and start ‘rescuing’ me from the baths again.” Laslow rolled his eyes. “Which I’m sure would  _ greatly  _ amuse Niles, but less so yours truly.”

Odin, jarringly, didn’t deign to rise to that retort. “You’ve been a bit… loose, lately.”

“Loose?” Laslow asked, raising a brow. “How’s that, then?”

Odin, too, quirked a brow. “‘I should probably inform you that I’m married’?” he said pointedly.

“Huh?”

When a blank silence dragged out, Odin sighed and said, “You were a bit out of it when you came in.”

Laslow swore when it sunk in, hurriedly sorting through the fuzziest memories of the evening. “I  _ didn’t,”  _ he groaned.

“To be fair, Lord Xander immediately deemed you delirious,” Odin said. “Quite amusing, really.”

Laslow only groaned again in response.

“And Lord Leo told me you had a talk,” Odin continued.

“We did?”

“Whilst we were in Ellyon.”

“Oh, that,” Laslow said. “What about it?”

“He said you had some interesting advice on the subject of leadership.”

“Suppose I did,” Laslow mused. “When did he tell you that?”

“On our way back to the castle the other day,” Odin said. “After I spent some time offering advisement of my own.”

“On what?” Laslow asked, unable to help the wicked smirk coming to his features. “The dark and mercurial art of talking too much?”

Once again, Odin didn’t rise to the bait. “We had a deep and philosophical conversation on the subject of marital harmony, as a matter of fact.”

Laslow didn’t even try to hold back his scoff. “Why were you bothering Lord Leo about  _ marital harmony?” _

Odin merely lifted his brows, looking up from Laslow’s wounds to meet his gaze again. “Ah. I suppose it isn’t quite public knowledge yet.”

“What isn’t?”

“Lord Leo and Lady Gisela were recently betrothed.”

“Damn,” Laslow said. “How recently?”

“Just a few days ago. After we returned from Diabola ourselves.”

“Huh,” said Laslow. Then, softer, “Because I needed  _ another  _ interesting revelation tonight…” He shrugged at Odin’s querying look. “I best save it for when Selena gets back, really, or she’ll have my head for telling you first.”

“‘Tis nothing short of cruelty to pique my interest so, dear cousin,” Odin grumbled, then sat back on his heels. “You’re done, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Laslow said, starting the task of rebuttoning his shirt. He winced a little as he grazed the fresh bandages and did his best to ignore it.

“Anyways,” Odin said, rising to his feet again and moving to put the rest of his supplies away, “You might budge Niles off his newfound fondness for my oldfound nickname for you if you just told him the truth.”

“Newfound—” Laslow began, before making the connection to the frequency in which Leo’s other retainer had taken to calling him variations of the old ‘doomed philanderer.’ “I’m not  _ that  _ insecure, Odin. Niles is welcome to call me what he wants.”

“They know about Robin,” Odin pointed out. “And I’m not entirely sure why you’re so keen on keeping it secret.”

“Robin’s not—” Laslow began, about to end the sentence with  _ waiting at home for you  _ before he thought better of it. “A queen,” he finished under his breath. “And if you think I’m in trouble a lot now, just imagine Lord Xander’s reaction to  _ that  _ revelation.”

Odin let out a soft ‘heh’ at that. “As marvelous to behold as such a revelation would surely be, it’s really one that ought not come to pass. I just…” He paused. “I oftentimes find myself worrying about you, my friend.”

“Yes,” Laslow said dryly, trying to ignore the prickle of defensiveness creeping through him. “You should be very worried about the chunks my liege enjoys taking out of my hide.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Thanks again for the patch up,” Laslow said as if he hadn’t heard, rising to his feet and making a heading for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Laslow.”

“I wish you knew,” Laslow snapped with sudden vitriol, the words welling up from somewhere so deep inside him he almost couldn’t identify it, “how much I  _ hate  _ having to answer to that name.”

Even with Laslow’s back turned, he could feel Odin’s regarding gaze on him. Finally, his cousin spoke again, the same flat tone as a moment earlier in a far softer voice.

“Inigo.”

Laslow closed his eyes, shaking his head as he muttered, “Damn you for knowing me so well, Odin.”

“I’ve only had twenty-five years of practice,” Odin returned dryly. Then, “So are you going to talk to me now?”

With a sigh, Laslow turned back around. “Sometimes,” he said, “I wonder where Inigo ends and Laslow begins. It has to be somewhere—some line in the sand I can’t seem to find. Because I can tell you now, Odin, that Inigo would have taken Lord Xander to task  _ long  _ before tonight, and yet somehow it’s taken Laslow this long to finally snap.”

Judgment free, Odin merely repeated, “You took Lord Xander to task.”

“You would’ve too, if you heard Lord Leo screaming like he did.” Laslow shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll get an earful about that in the morning. And I won’t snap then, because I can’t afford to. I’ll take it, and keep on, and continue my job of being both conscience and babysitter to a crown prince that’s too big for his britches. Because that’s the only way we’re ever going to get home, isn’t it?”

Odin, very softly, said, “Laslow, if you want to go…”

Laslow barked a humorless laugh. “Yes, I want to go,” he said. “There are times I can barely  _ breathe  _ for how much I want to go. I’d like to tell Xander that I’m Prince Inigo of Chon’sin, the last Exalt of Ylisse, he can take his orders where the sun doesn’t shine, and he can find a new retainer because I’m  _ done.  _ And yet our tickets home don’t  _ bloody work  _ because our patron didn’t have time to tell us how to get back to you-know-where. So as noble as your offer to send me home is, it’s not exactly feasible, now is it?”

Odin didn’t answer. He stood, leaning back against his dresser, seeming quite aware that Laslow hadn’t spent himself yet.

“And I think the worst part of it is,” Laslow finally continued, “is that sometimes I  _ don’t  _ hate it.” He shook his head. “I pity Lady Corrin being here and yet I find myself admiring how she soldiers on despite. Lady Elise is much too bright for this place. Lord Leo reminds me far too much of  _ me  _ five years past and I think some part of me wants to right my own wrongs in him. Silas is a good lad and Soleil is—gods, Soleil is another matter entirely. I’m  _ fond  _ of them, dammit, and I hate that I am, because sometimes I find myself so wrapped up in Nohr that I let myself  _ forget  _ my own wife doesn’t know if I’m dead or alive.”

Odin nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“And then sometimes I wonder,” Laslow added, “if I  _ could  _ go home, if I  _ did  _ have the choice, if I really  _ would.  _ So I’m just left wondering how much of me is still Inigo when I have to ask myself that.”

Odin seemed to weigh his words before he answered. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy when we agreed to this,” he said. “And your sentiment rings true. It pains me to this day to know we flay our identities so carelessly.” He shrugged. “But how much do our own feelings matter, in the end, when this world needs us so desperately? When Lord Leo needs advice and Lord Xander needs a conscience? I would wish differently… but in the end…”

Laslow let out another dry, bitter laugh. “I suppose you’re right. It is the fate of the world at stake, after all. You know, I thought we were done with that. Hoped, really.”

“As did I, my friend,” Odin said. “As did I.”

Then, so softly it was a wonder his words were even heard, “I miss her more than my own life.”

“I know.”

Laslow finally broke their gaze with a shake of his head.  _ Of course you do. _

“Do you feel any better?” Odin asked.

Laslow opened his mouth for a moment before anything came out. “Not especially, no,” he managed. “Maybe in the morning.” Unable to take the unspoken pity, he turned away. “Thanks anyway.”

“Always,” Odin offered.

Laslow wasn’t sure how much the sentiment helped.

~~~

Corrin woke, and dressed, and went down to breakfast, all as normally as if she hadn’t had the singular most amazing and terrifying night of her entire life just hours earlier.

“Hi, Xander,” she said, just like she would on any other morning her elder brother had stayed the night—if not, perhaps, with a hint more trepidation than usual.

“Good morning, Corrin,” Xander answered. From the look of it he’d only just started breakfast himself, and he let out a slight grimace over the top of his cup. Was it from the sight of her, or was the morning coffee simply not up to his standards? Unlikely the latter, Corrin thought as she smoothed an anxious hand over her skirts, knowing Jakob’s usual touch with hot drinks.

Despite her unease, she settled in her usual seat anyway, reaching for the tea that was her own preference to Xander and Leo’s straight black coffee. That thought, at least, brought her a hint of amusement—she was fairly sure Leo’s predilection for the bitter drink stemmed from when he’d still been young enough to idolize Xander even in palate. She’d seen him give many a displeased face when their eldest sibling’s back was turned before he’d actually grown to like the taste.

“Have you seen Leo?” she finally ventured, casting another look at his empty place. She’d expected an awkward, disciplinary breakfast, but she hadn’t thought Leo would skip entirely.

“I have not,” Xander said, spearing a bit of egg on his fork. “I believe I heard his door shortly before I came down myself, but I haven’t caught sight of him yet.”

“Huh,” said Corrin, casting a cursory look at the jam of the day before spreading it on her chosen piece of toast. “Maybe he’s working Hati. Or Misty, actually, he’s been saying he wants to give her a tune-up.” She tried very hard not to be insulted by that—her riding skills, starting at scratch from age seventeen, could hardly compare to how the rest of her family had practically raised in the saddle before any of them could walk. Her mare, however willing, occasionally needed the reminder of a more experienced hand at the reins.

“Perhaps,” Xander acquiesced, seeming to decide better of deigning to comment on the sour note of  _ why  _ Leo would choose such an outlet over eating with them.

Finally, when the silence grew too much to bear, Corrin ventured in a small voice, “Are you mad at me?”

Xander glanced up again, let out a soft sigh, and shook his head. “I’m not mad at you, little princess. We caught the end of your fight; and fight you did, very admirably for the circumstances. You protected your fellow soldiers with your life, and that is something you could not have learned in this fortress. I am, in fact, very proud of you.” His lips twitched in a faint hint of a smile before he sighed again. “Leo, on the other hand…”

“He just wanted to help!” Corrin protested. “It’s not his fault everything went wrong!”

“Be that as it may, and however pure his intentions,” Xander said, “if yesterday’s chain of events had varied, even slightly, last night could have ended far differently. And far more tragically.”

_ So you think he shouldn’t have taken me at all,  _ Corrin thought, looking down at her plate and having to bite the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Corrin,” Xander said gently, as if he’d taken to reading her mind. “You will not remain here forever. I will make sure of that.”

Corrin nodded, then said in a small voice, “Please don’t tell Father about last night.”

“I have no intention of telling Father,” Xander said firmly. “Misguided as last night’s adventure may have been, we did all come out of it in one piece. It’s hardly fair of me to throw Leo under that wagon if we keep such a thing in mind.” In a softer tone, he added, “I think he has enough to work through at present.”

“Enough to work through?” Corrin asked, glancing up from her plate again with a small spike of alarm. “What do you mean?”

“He’ll be expected to answer for why the Diabolan Faceless have suddenly come so close to home,” Xander said. “It’s become his personal project, in a way. I cannot say I envy him.” He took another sip of his coffee. “And there is the matter of Lady Gisela, of course.”

It took Corrin a moment to place the name. “Oh, right,” she said. “I heard Niles mention something about running into her when they were in Diabola, right? Leo was friends with her when they were younger?” She paused, her eyes going suddenly wide. “What do you mean there’s a matter, though? Did something happen to her? Is she okay?”

Xander froze with his mug halfway back to the table. “Ah,” he managed, his expression contrite as he finally moved to set it the rest of the way. “My apologies, Corrin, I assumed he’d told you already. He usually doesn’t keep such matters from you… although I shouldn’t have presumed. The news is quite fresh still.”

“What news?” Corrin asked.  _ “What  _ hasn’t he told me?”

~~~

Nearly an hour later, she’d found Leo in none of his usual haunts. He’d never ended up showing up to breakfast, both his room and the library were dim and empty, and if it weren’t for Hati’s presence in the stables she’d have started wondering if he’d taken his leave before dawn. It was only when Corrin had stalked back up the stairs in frustration that she’d heard the faint strains of melody winding through the walls.

She opened the offending door with quiet care, more surprised than anything else—Leo was not an especially avid frequenter of her music room, for all that the five of them had been coerced into learning at least one instrument proficiently.  _ It’s only proper for nobility to be as versed in the arts as they are in politics,  _ had been Camilla’s response to any inkling of complaint.

Complaints, of course, had gradually turned into competition—Corrin could remember many an argument with Leo in their early teens over which of them was a better pianist, which Camilla again had resolved with the neutral,  _ Leo excels in the technical pieces, and Corrin the emotional.  _ That had mollified them at the time, though Corrin wondered now if Leo had, typically, taken that as a personal challenge.

She came in quietly, so as not to disturb him—the piano was placed so Leo had his back to the door and he hadn’t seemed to notice her at all, judging by the unhesitating paths of his long fingers over the keys. The bittersweet arrangement was different from what she’d heard in the stairwell, she could already tell, though it wasn’t one she’d heard before.

For a long moment—several minutes, actually, judging by how much of the piece Leo had made it through before Corrin could even bring herself to step forward—she merely watched and listened, too caught up in the melody and Leo’s intense, visible concentration on it. When he finished with an almost harsh, abrupt beat that contrasted sharply with the longing of the rest of the arrangement, he tilted his head slightly and regarded his hands rather than continuing on.

Corrin scuffed her foot a little, then cleared her throat as an added warning to him before she spoke. “I hadn’t heard that one before.”

Leo didn’t answer her for a long moment, and when he did he spoke in the direction of the piano rather than her. “It’s rather new to me as well,” he said. “The original intent of the composer, as far as I’m aware… was to speak of regretting one’s hubris in the wake of losing a loved one.”

Corrin bit back a sigh, abruptly striding forward and plopping onto the right side of the piano bench. Leo immediately scooted over to the far edge, as if the brief brush of their legs had burned him, his hands unmoving but his gaze still on the black and white keys before him. “Quit being ridiculous,” she said flatly. “I’m right here, you know. You didn’t  _ lose  _ me.”

“I’m not entirely sure you realize just how near a matter that was,” Leo replied.

“Near or not, I’m still here,” she said. “And whatever you think, or whatever Xander says,  _ I’m  _ not going to regret what happened last night. And you moping isn’t gonna change anything.”

Leo snorted—likely in response to the moping comment—and then moved his hands once more, this time starting a heady, upbeat tune that spoke to her more of rebellion than anything else.  _ Rebellion against what?  _ she pondered briefly.

“I appreciate it, Leo,” Corrin said softly. “More than you know.”

He didn’t answer that comment either—he really was like talking to a brick wall sometimes—and she let him continue in his music for a long minute more before she tentatively ventured down another path.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were  _ engaged?” _

Leo’s fingers hit the keys with a dissonant clash. She watched his throat work from the corner of her eye in the sudden silence before he answered. “Xander told you, then.”

“It should have been you.”

“It probably won’t be—” he began, then cut himself off. “These things take a while to plan. I can’t imagine there’ll be a wedding to worry about for at least another year. Maybe two.”

“That’s not the point,” Corrin whispered.

“We were a bit busy last night,” Leo pointed out.

“We had plenty of time  _ before  _ we left,” Corrin retorted. “You were here most of the day.”

“I—” Leo began, then broke off. “You’re right. I did. And you  _ should  _ have heard it from me. I’m sorry.” He took in a breath. “I just… I suppose telling you meant I had to face it myself. And I’m not entirely sure I was ready for that.”

Corrin glanced down, tangling her fingers together in her lap. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously when you were worried about it on your birthday,” she whispered.

Leo let out a soft chuckle. “I forgot we had that conversation,” he admitted. “Don’t apologize. It could be worse. She’s only half a year older than me, for one.”

Corrin shuddered at the reminder that Camilla’s once-fiancé had been almost twice her age and said, “Plus you guys were friends once, right?”

“As kids,” Leo said, his gaze fixed on the middle distance. “Whether that translates to adulthood, and to…” There was the briefest hesitation in his words, “marriage, and to co-rulership of one of Nohr’s most powerful holdings… That remains to be seen.”

“And Father won’t budge?”

“There’s no point in  _ trying  _ to budge Father,” Leo said. “It’s my duty; in that Xander’s correct. And as I said, it could be worse.” His lips twitched. “She’ll make a fine duchess someday, I believe.”

Corrin paused, biting her cheek before she could fully identify just what he’d said that had set off her anxiety so hugely; finally, she latched onto the word  _ co-rulership.  _ “So… you’ll… end up living in Diabola, then? With her?”

“Most likely.”

She tried to ignore the way her heart twisted at that. “But you’ll still come visit me, though?” she asked. “Right?”

Leo didn’t answer for a moment. “As best I can,” he said, “of course I will, though like I said I can’t imagine it will take less than a year or two—”

He broke off when she abruptly seized his right hand in her left, lacing their fingers together before curling her own right over where they joined. Then and only then did Leo actually glance over at her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

Corrin found abruptly, though, that she couldn’t meet his gaze long—she quickly looked away herself, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just… kind of weird to think that you’re younger than me and you’re going to get married before I do.”

Leo blew out a breath. “Trust me,” he said. “You don’t know the half of how weird it is.” When she didn’t answer for a long moment, he reached with his free hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and whispered, “Corrin?”

She shivered a little, but didn’t have the chance to answer when the door swung open behind them again. “There you both are,” said Xander. “In here will do, Jakob, thank you.”

At his words, Jakob too entered, though he only stayed long enough to drop off a tea-tray, offer a bow, and duck back out.

“Camilla and Elise will be in late this afternoon,” Xander said. “They intend to stop and stay the night and head on to Krakenburg in the morning.”

Neither of the younger siblings answered for a moment. “Ah,” Leo finally said. “Lovely.”

When a long silence dragged out, Xander shook his head. “Come here then, you two,” he said. “We need to have a discussion.” He began pouring the first of three cups of tea while Corrin gave Leo’s hand one final squeeze and rose to her feet.

Once again, no one spoke until they’d gathered, each with their drink in hand. It was Leo who first broke the silence, not bothering to hide the grimace that came with his first sip. “Jakob made this?” he asked, lifting a brow at Xander’s nod. “It’s hardly up to his usual standards.”

Corrin, too, lifted her mug to her lips, then privately admitted she had to agree. “Everyone has off days, I guess,” she said neutrally.

Xander, however, seemed determined not to budge from the original topic. “Last night,” he said, “resulted from a long chain of errors in judgment that should never have occurred. Normally, I would maintain such gross incompetence is fit for punishment detail.”

Leo winced at that, though Xander’s momentary pause gave Corrin brief hope.

“As such: Corrin, I will be speaking to Gunter about increasing your sword lessons. You understand now, loath as I am that you had to learn in such a way, what it is like to battle an opponent who truly wishes you dead. Knowing this now, I trust you will see how to apply it to your studies. And when the time comes for you to leave this fortress, you will know how to protect someone without wavering.”

Corrin nodded. Xander had said he wasn’t mad at her earlier, but on the other hand his discipline wouldn’t feel much like punishment anyway. She could almost look forward to it now, knowing in a way she hadn’t yesterday just what a weapon was truly for.

“And Leo. I wish you to study.”

Leo lifted his brow again. “Study?”

“I believe you’ve learned from this that all the knowledge in the world will do you no good if you cannot apply it. Sometimes the best thing for someone is not what they want, and you must learn to identify that. Even if the worst happens, even if you are hated for it, you must learn to do the best for their sake. That is the difference between knowledge and discernment, and with time I believe you will learn to craft it.”

Leo nodded, though the discontent on his face was plain to see. “And?”

“And that will be all,” Xander said. “I believe the events themselves have impressed upon you the necessary lessons. I will not bring this to Father, and I gave Laslow orders to obfuscate Corrin’s identity to the National Defense. We can, I believe, put this behind us. Although…”

“Although?” Leo asked.

“I will leave it up to you to explain to Camilla and Elise when they arrive,” Xander finished.

Leo let out a soft, humorless bark of laughter. “Fair enough,” he said, then added. “Corrin? Go ahead and start on my eulogy, would you?”

~~~

“You’re late.”

Laslow had expected the reprimand and still had to stifle a cringe. Xander had given him a much belated start for the morning and he’d still managed to blow it. “Sorry, milord,” he said. “Flora told me I ought to go wash up before reporting to you.”

Xander paused for a moment, seemingly distracted from his papers for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Yes, she would have. My apologies, Laslow.” While Laslow was still reeling from  _ that  _ turn of phrase, he continued, “You are back in one piece, then?”

“As best I can be, I suppose, milord,” Laslow answered.

Xander sighed, settling his papers and turning to face his retainer. “That was perhaps not the wisest course of action you’ve ever taken.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you left yourself wide open,” Laslow said in return, then winced again as the words caught up with him. Dammit, he was too tired and too sore to have that conversation, even if his wounds had been properly healed by that point. “Besides, that is sort of my job, isn’t it? Protecting you?”

Xander’s eyes narrowed and he glanced back at his desk. “Laslow… have I ever told you about my past retainers?”

_ So it’s to be another day of odd non-sequiturs,  _ Laslow thought, wondering just what sort of development would drop on him now. “No, milord, I don’t believe you have.”

“Before you came along, I had two other retainers. Asmund and Viola,” Xander said, seeming to pronounce the names with great care. “They were both remarkable warriors—perhaps even stronger than you. Both were serious and devoted. Their every action weighed and considered.”

Unable to keep the hint of dryness from his tone, Laslow said, “Is that supposed to be said in pointed contrast to yours truly, milord?”

Xander, for once, didn’t chide him. “Perhaps,” he said. “If anything, they were your opposites. I always thought I would have them at my side even after ascending the throne.”

“I see,” said Laslow. “Then why did you replace them, if I may ask?”

Xander fixed his gaze on a point in the wall above his desk. “I did not. They fell in battle at the hands of powerful Hoshidan soldiers during the first week of this year. We were outnumbered. They both gave their lives to protect me.”

A beat passed. “Oh,” Laslow said softly.

“It’s easy to say they died fulfilling their duty. But… I believe that had I been stronger, they would still be alive. They died because I was weak. Laslow, if you wish to fritter away your life on nonsense, I cannot stop you. The past few months have made that abundantly clear. But I ask… Stay vigilant. Don’t ever make me experience something like that again.”

_ Trust you to make my potential death all about you,  _ Laslow thought to himself dryly. “Believe me, Lord Xander, I have no intention of dying anytime soon. I’ve had scarier things than Faceless fail to kill me. And I surely will again.”  _ Say’ri for one, whenever I manage to make it back home… _

Xander nodded. “I am relieved to hear you say that. Thank you.”

“Well, I have to admit, it didn’t take much convincing. I’m quite attached to my flesh.”

Xander blew out a soft snort at that. “There are worse things to be attached to. And I must admit… in some ways it is easier to have a retainer without other such attachments.”

It took Laslow a moment to parse through the meaning. “Your Asmund and Viola had outside loyalties?”

“Not outside, as such,” Xander said. “They ended up marrying each other.”

“Ah,” said Laslow.  _ Hmm… so if that were the case for me, would Xander have killed Say’ri first or would Say’ri have killed Xander?  _ “That must have been interesting,” he said demurely, then decided his money would have been unequivocally on Say’ri.  _ Rest in peace, Nohr’s line of succession in this hypothetical scenario. Enjoy the throne, Queen Camilla. _

“It was,” said Xander. “Even more so when their daughter was born.”

Some part of his heart seized without his content.  _ Left orphaned by the ever-hungry jaws of war…  _ “How old is she?”

“She is four. Though I believe you would know that by now, anyway.”

“I… would?” Laslow asked blankly, brow furrowing. The only four-year-olds he knew were Ophelia and… “Soleil? Your previous retainers were Soleil’s parents?”

“The irony of your taking an interest in her does not escape me,” Xander said.

Laslow blew out a short breath.  _ That  _ explained a lot, for certain—how Xander had known her name before Laslow had mentioned it, surely upon recognizing Lady Whiskers; why he’d had the spare toy hanging around and why he’d bestowed it upon Laslow to give it to her—but not quite  _ everything.  _ “Why in seven hells does she live in that damn creche, then? I get it for Odin, he’s got no one else to take care of Ophelia and even then he hates it, why would—”

“She has no other family, Laslow,” Xander cut in. “Neither Asmund nor Viola had living relatives remaining she could be sent to. It was the best I could do for her.”

A sudden surge of indignation rose in Laslow’s chest. “They told me she was a ward,” he said flatly. “They didn’t tell me she was  _ your  _ ward.”

“Does that make a difference?” Xander asked. “It’s hardly the worst situation she could find herself in. She will want for nothing; she’ll not need to concern herself for food, money, or shelter, she will be offered the finest education Nohr can offer and her pick of palace jobs when she comes of age—or, should she choose, enough of a stipend to live elsewhere. There are many people who would cut off their hands for such privileges.”

“She has no  _ family,  _ Lord Xander,” Laslow snapped, clenching his fingers. “You can’t make up for that with expensive tutors and piles of gold. And you haven’t even given her that yet! The creche system needs a  _ major  _ overhaul, half of the nursemaids in there don’t give a damn about those kids—ask Odin if you don’t believe me, gods know he sees enough of it! And at least Ophelia’s got an  _ advocate,  _ he’ll raise hell if he ever gets the slightest hint she’s been mistreated, Soleil hasn’t got that! When was the last time  _ you  _ went to see her?”

“I’m hardly her parent, Laslow, it’s not as though the frequency of my visits are of consequence—”

“According to the legal system you’re the closest thing she’s got!”

“I believe we’ve  _ discussed  _ the impropriety of your lecturing me, Laslow, especially on matters of family—”

“You’re the one turning it into a lecture! All I’ve asked you for is a date on when you last saw the girl!”

“I—” For the briefest moment, Xander seemed to falter. “I cannot say I remember the date off the top of my head, but—”

“How does that not surprise me?” Laslow drawled.

“Laslow, I don’t think you quite understand how dear Viola and Asmund both were to me, nor how bitter a sight it is for me to look upon the last piece of them left in this world—”

“She is  _ four!  _ She has  _ zero  _ concept of that! All she knows is that her parents left one day and never came back and no one’s stepped forward to take their place! Seven hells, no wonder the poor thing latched onto me the moment I did something remotely nice for her! There’s not a four-year-old alive that can exist in that sort of vacuum! I was nine and I still had more aunts and uncles than you can count on your fingers and  _ I  _ could barely do it! Soleil is not some sentimental ornament you can tuck away in a box because she makes you  _ sad  _ and if your retainers had one whit of love for their spawn then they’d be ashamed at how far you’ve let this go—”

“Don’t you dare  _ presume  _ to know how they would have felt!” Xander bellowed, snapping to his feet with the alacrity of an angry bull.

Laslow merely offered him a flat look, and  _ there  _ was his spine,  _ there  _ was Inigo the Exalt finally coming out of hiding as if to spite how he’d bemoaned to Odin the night before. “Immutable law of the world, milord,” he finally said. “The rest is up to you.”

Xander glared back for a long moment more before lowering himself once more to his seat. “Your lip ought to have gotten you dismissed from my service a dozen times over these past few months,” he said at last.

“Trust me, for every incident you can think of I can name three more where I should have dismissed myself,” Laslow returned. “But we both know that’s not going to happen so long as your father has a say, is it?”

It was the first time he’d dared to say as such aloud—he never had quite figured out why Garon was so keen on keeping them close, but it had served their own purposes well enough, he supposed.

“So I suppose,” he continued, “you’ll just have to deal with having me, the pesky voice of rationality.”

“You  _ are  _ dismissed, Laslow,” Xander said. “Take the day and report to me again in the morning when we leave for Krakenburg. Stay in the confines of the Fortress.”

Laslow lifted his brows at that—his usual sniping, turned in this instance up to eleven, had actually earned him a day  _ off?  _ “Yes, sir,” he said, turning on his heel before his liege could change his mind.

He clicked the door shut, closing his eyes and taking in a breath.  _ Seven hells,  _ he thought, then,  _ Poor Soleil. _

“Everything all right, Laslow? I heard shouting.”

Laslow opened his eyes to see Leo peering at him from the end of the hallway, brows raised in query. Exactly the  _ last  _ person to burden with Xander’s temper at that moment, he thought dryly. “Just fine, Lord Leo,” he said lightly. “I’ve gotten myself a day off and everything.”

Leo’s brows rose even higher. “Well, then,” he said. “I won’t keep you from it, then.”

“Much appreciated, milord,” Laslow replied. As the second prince continued out of sight, he let out another great sigh and pressed his palms to his eyes.

Nohr was going to be the  _ death  _ of him.


	32. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fighting to hold on, clinging to just one more day,  
>  Love turns to ashes with all that I wish I could say,  
> I'd die to be where you are, I've tried to be where you are,  
> Every night, I dream you're still here, the ghost by my side so perfectly clear,  
> When I awake, you'll disappear, back to the shadows with all I hold dear..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's been an interesting ride... It was originally only about the first half and combined with the next chapter, though said chapter was ridiculously long and felt unfinished, so I split the second half off to be by itself for next chapter and expanded on this one. Also took a short break to work on a personal AU that I don't plan on publishing, which is why it's been a minute.
> 
> The last scene of this chapter is loosely based off of @pejiximon's amazingly lovely piece, [“Always By Your Side”](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEU_V17B4C1/?igshid=1kp96ucfbwf3l)

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 12, 635**

“Hi guys! What’cha doing? Ooh, are you having a secret meeting or something?”

“Uh,” Laslow said, then came to the brilliant decision to blurt, “Yes. Absolutely.”

Selena angled herself perfectly to elbow him in the back without Elise being able to see.

“Cool! Can I come?” Nohr’s youngest princess asked, tilting her head. “Or is it too secret for me?” When no one answered her for a long moment, she stuck out her bottom lip. “You can _say_ if it is, you know, I won’t be mad.”

“Ah,” said Odin. “I’m afraid it is a bit… confidential.”

Elise hid a giggle behind her hand, then nodded solemnly. “Okay, okay! Just let me say goodnight to Freddy and I’ll get out of your Super Secret Meeting of Secrecy.” With that, she trotted down the stable aisle, leaning forward to wrap her arms around the sturdy bay neck of her mount. “Night, Freddy!”

Freddy himself lurched a little bit at the intrusion, his eyes wide. Quite a flighty thing he was, Laslow thought, especially comparing him to his half brothers—nothing like stoic Skoll or temperamental Hati. Elise seemed to handle him well enough, at least.

Elise stepped back, then pressed her finger to her lips with a conspiratorial hush. “Have a good secret meeting!” she whispered in a delighted undertone before skipping away.

Laslow gave a slight shake of his head in response, having scarcely started to plot over _everything_ he’d picked up over the last two days when the princess’s voice reached him again.

“Hey! You must be the new stablehand, right? I’m Elise!” A quiet answer came in response—distinctly feminine but too low to make out—before Elise spoke again. “Have you met my siblings’ retainers yet? Hang on guys, don’t start your secret meeting yet!”

With that as her only warning, Elise bounced back into view, dragging her newfound best friend by the arm.

Embarrassingly enough, Laslow’s shock kept him from reaching for Falchion on sheer instinct, though the hesitation blessedly did save him from having to answer some _very_ dangerous questions.

She stood, not quite as she had before—her hair the same shade of blue fading pink, but now in simple maid’s clothes rather than swirling Vallite cloth. Her eyes, too, had changed—wide with fear now rather than narrow with hate.

“Hey guys,” Elise continued, “meet Lilith!”

Laslow caught Selena’s hand flexing on the pommel of her sword, then watched Lilith’s gaze stray in that direction too. Odin, too, shifted beside him, the same defensive change of posture he’d taken that night in Dai’chi so long ago.

“Lady Elise,” Laslow said in a low tone, gaze dropping to where the princess had a hand resting so casually on Lilith’s arm. If Lilith tried something… Odin could cast, but how quickly, and could he keep Elise out of the crossfire?

“I know, I _know,”_ Elise said, waving her hand absently. “Secrets, secrets! I’m going! Just wanted to introduce you! Bye now!”

With another wave, she darted off, miraculously without interception. Was Lilith as shocked at the sight of them as they were at the sight of her? But if so, why would she be—

No sooner had the heavy barn door closed behind Elise did Selena lunge, crossing the gap to put her sword at Lilith’s throat almost faster than Laslow could even blink.

“Wait, wait—” Lilith began desperately, stumbling back until she hit the wood of the nearest stall with a thud. “We’re on the same side, I swear it—”

“Funny, that’s not what I remember,” Selena muttered, still with her blade half an inch from Lilith’s neck and unwavering.

“I know, I know—but just give me the chance to explain myself, I can—”

“Selena!” Laslow said, just as a very peeved black head emerged from the shadow of the stall window.

 _“What?”_ she snapped in return, then let out a yelp and was forced to leap back from Lilith as Hati’s teeth clamped down on the spot where she’d been. “You damn hormonal—it’s a wonder Lord Leo keeps you around!”

Hati clacked his teeth at her once more for good measure, ears flat against his head as he slunk back into his stall.

Lilith, meanwhile, hadn’t moved except to slink further from Hati’s stall and nearer the empty one beside it. “I swear I can explain. And I swear things have changed since last we met.”

“Then perhaps you should get on with elaborating,” Odin said flatly.

Lilith nodded, still blatantly spooked. “I’m—” she whispered roughly. “I’m here for Kamui.”

Selena, quite clearly, moved to take another lunge at her.

“To help her!” Lilith quickly cried. “I’m here to help her!” Then, more softly, “She _is_ my sister.”

“You were rather keen on disputing that fact the last time we met,” Laslow pointed out.

“Things have changed,” Lilith said, a hint of a darker note in her voice more reminiscent of the last time they’d met. It quickly faded back once more into regret. “After you left… I couldn’t bring myself to kill him,” she said hollowly, carefully dancing around the name. “He… called me his daughter, even though he’d never known me. The king tried to punish me for refusing. And he… took the blow for me.”

The three exchanged glances, once more bracing for the drop, and Lilith cleared her throat.

“So I vowed to help,” she continued. “Even if she never knew who I really was.” The faint ghost of a smile touched her face. “And she is kinder than I could have imagined even without such knowledge.”

“Hold up,” Selena said sharply. “You’ve _met_ Kamui? You’ve found her?”

Lilith paused, blinking. “You mean you haven’t realized…?” She tilted her head. “Well, I suppose it’s not the easiest trail in the world to follow from such an earthly perspective. King Garon covered his tracks well, and Queen Mikoto only aided him in it, unfortunately.”

“If you want us to trust you,” Laslow pointed out, “being so cryptic is probably not the answer.”

“No,” Lilith agreed. “Probably not. Though are you sure this is the place for such a discussion?”

“There’s the roof,” Odin suggested.

Lilith shook her head. “No,” she said. “I have a much better idea.” With that, she extended her hand, then quirked her fingers in a plain gesture for them to take hold.

Laslow only eyed her for a moment. “If you plan on crossing us…” he began, letting the threat hang unsaid.

“I swear to whatever god you choose I do not,” Lilith said, hand still extended.

Once more, the trio exchanged a glance. _It’s not the easiest trail in the world to follow,_ Lilith had said. That meant there _was_ a trail, though—a trail they could follow to discover Kamui for themselves, without the risk of trusting Lilith. On the other hand, if Lilith _did_ already know, how much havoc could she wreak while Laslow, Odin, and Selena struggled to put together the pieces and catch up?

Laslow sighed, reached for Lilith’s hand, and hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Odin and Selena followed suit.

As soon as they did, the stables vanished around them.

~~~

**Astral Plane—November 12, 635**

The first thing Laslow noticed was the smell of pungent, green grass, so foreign to a nose now used to Nohr that it nearly sent him on a coughing fit.

The second thing he noticed was the roiling, raw power of a Dragon Vein beneath his feet. Actually, once Laslow cleared his head enough to start sorting through the new sensation, he had a feeling it was probably closer to _half a dozen_ Dragon Veins in far closer proximity than he’d ever thought possible.

“Where… are we?” he ventured, glancing up and having to shield his eyes from a sun brighter than anything he thought he’d seen since Valla itself. The sky, too, was a bright, rich blue that in itself almost made his eyes ache after half a year of gloomy, perpetually overcast Nohr. And wherever they were, it was summer, or at least close enough to count—he had to forcibly resist the urge to shrug out of his topmost layer.

“This is where I’ve been since last we met,” Lilith said. “We’re technically in another world, off the fringes of Nohr and Hoshido, but it’s very small. Only a few dozen miles in any direction, really. It’s known as the Astral Plane. We’ll be safe to talk here.”

“Your idea of privacy,” Selena demanded, “is bringing us to another _dimension?”_

“Oh, come on, Selena, are you saying new dimensions aren’t old hat for us by now?” Laslow drawled. “What’s this, number five?”

Selena rolled her eyes, though she didn’t have the chance to speak again before Lilith interjected. “It would be best if we didn’t linger here long.”

“Indeed,” said Odin. “Say your piece.”

Lilith nodded, then mused quietly, “Princess Kamui of Hoshido.”

A beat passed. “Who is now in Nohr, evidently,” Laslow prodded.

“Who is indeed now in Nohr,” Lilith agreed. “Though if one were to ask after her in Hoshido, one would be told she had perished. Perhaps it is for the best your investigations didn’t get that far.”

The words themselves, even for their falseness, pierced at Laslow’s breast startlingly. “Perhaps,” he agreed, wondering how he would have reacted if he’d been under the illusion every instant he’d spent in Nohr had been hopelessly in vain.

“Why would they tell us that?” Selena asked.

“Honor,” Lilith replied. “Pride. The same pride, I believe, which prompted King Garon to kidnap her in the first place.”

“Kidnap?” said Odin. “Then he’s keeping her prisoner somewhere?”

A beat passed. “Yes,” Lilith said. “Yes, he is.” Then, dissonantly, she moved the take off the maid’s cap which covered her head and tucked her hair behind her right ear.

It took a long moment for the logical part of Laslow’s brain to catch up with the puzzle pieces that were urgently falling together elsewhere in his mind—and he swore most eloquently when it did.

Lilith’s hair, though a far brighter color, held a familiar texture. Her eyes, golden rather than red, gave him a look he already knew.

Though it was her _ears_ that damned her with a pointed shape he’d only seen on one other person in Nohr.

 _“She_ is _my sister.”_

 _“Lady Corrin,”_ he whispered, floored. “It’s Lady Corrin, isn’t it?”

“What?” Selena said, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Laslow, Lady Corrin’s His Majesty’s—”

“No,” Laslow said. “She isn’t. That’s what I was going to tell you two.” He glanced between his compatriots. “Lord Xander let slip last night when we went out looking for her. Lady Corrin _isn’t_ the king’s daughter. All three of our lieges know it, too.”

“So _that’s_ why he keeps her there,” Selena said, taking half a step back. “So it doesn’t get out… Gawds. _Gawds._ She’s been under our noses the whole time.”

“As such it seems…” Odin murmured. Then, with a querying look toward Laslow, he added in an undertone, “Does _she_ know?”

Laslow shook his head.

“I would rather,” Lilith cut back in, “she didn’t find out about me, either.”

Laslow rubbed at his temple, absently shaking his head. “Well, yeah. We kind of need her to trust us and I doubt she’ll be very keen on that if we turn around and tell her that her entire life is a lie.” A soft snort escaped him. “And Lord Xander would have my _head.”_

“I’m more surprised he hasn’t taken your head already,” Selena said, seeming to make a show of examining her hands. “Sometimes I think you’re _trying_ to provoke him.”

“Laslow’s never had much in the way of self-preservation instincts,” Odin pointed out.

“Oh, all right then, Sir I’m-Going-To-Jump-Into-Dark-Holes-In-Supposedly-Haunted-Cities,” Laslow retorted.

“I was speaking more of the future,” Lilith drawled, crossing her arms. “Our… mutual foe might not know just _where_ you are, or how your plans will form against him, but he’ll not forget your purpose in this world is to _end_ him. He’s making his own plans, and quickly enough now. Prodding and poking Nohr and Hoshido both… It won’t take much longer to bring them against each other now. And when that war comes… Kamui won’t be able to remain ignorant when she finds herself caught in the center of it.”

“Assuming she _gets_ to find herself in the center of it,” Laslow pointed out, “and isn’t stuck on the sidelines like she’s been for the rest of her life.”

Lilith shook her head. “With the way things are shaping,” their newest ally said, “I don’t think it will be _possible_ for her to find herself anywhere but the center.”

Laslow shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of mild, unassuming, naive Corrin being the lynchpin on which the fate of the entire world rested. Had that been how his friends had felt, he wondered, when they’d presumed Lucina dead and Falchion had passed to him?

“All right,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “So we’ve got that figured out. Where do we go from here?”

“Best to continue on as you have been, I think,” Lilith said. “Cementing your places, gaining your lieges’ trust. I’ll stay in the Northern Fortress with Kamui and ensure her safety as long as she remains here; merciful Moro, but you gave me a fright last night.” She gave a stern look toward both Odin and Laslow, who exchanged their own glances and shrugged.

“We’ve managed that, at least—the trust part,” Selena pointed out. “Some of us more than others,” she continued, with her own pointed glare at Laslow.

“And the divine weapons,” Laslow said, growing more sure in his trust for Lilith by the moment and hoping his gut instincts weren’t misplaced. “We’ve found two of them.”

Lilith’s lips quirked in the faintest smile. “Aye, you would have—I’m only glad you’ve figured out just what they are. Siegfried and Brynhildr.” Her smile faded into a frown. “The rest will be harder, I’m afraid.”

“How so?” Odin asked.

“This world wobbles on the point of a blade,” Lilith said. “Since the age of dragons centuries ago, through three almighty wars, neither Nohr nor Hoshido have fallen to the other. There’s a reason for that. A balance of power.”

The connection came devastatingly easily. “Nohr and Hoshido,” Laslow murmured, dragging a hand over his face. “Perfectly matched even when they shouldn’t be. Nohr’s family descended from the Dusk Dragon, Hoshido from the Dawn Dragon. Which means… if Nohr has two divine weapons, Hoshido has two divine weapons.”

Lilith nodded solemnly. “Raijinto and the Fujin Yumi,” she said. “Currently wielded by the two princes of Hoshido.”

Laslow swore under his breath. “So we’re going to have to find allies in Hoshido,” he said. “Somehow. And convince those two princes they ought to help the servants of their sworn enemies to defeat an evil we can’t tell them about. And keep an eye on Lady Corrin. _And_ do all this without our lieges or fellow retainers pegging us for traitors. Dear _Naga,_ is this supposed to be _impossible?”_

“We knew this wouldn’t be easy when we took on the task, my friend,” Odin pointed out.

“There’s ‘not easy’ and there’s ‘basically unattainable,’ Odin,” Selena retorted. Then she paused, tilting her head. “But you know what? Screw _that._ We brought down Grima, didn’t we? Ha! We’d have never done that if we laid down and died when things got a little tough.” She stepped toward Lilith. “Fifth weapon. What is it, and where? Lay it on us.”

Unfortunately, though, Lilith merely shook her head. “The Yato was sealed away when the dragons left this realm,” she said. “I don’t think anyone’s seen it for six centuries.”

“Ah, an even more impossible scavenger hunt,” Laslow said dryly. “Lovely.”

Lilith only tilted her head slightly. “You know,” she said, “he wouldn’t have asked this of you if he didn’t think you could do it?”

The sentiment was small consolation. “I’m glad he had such faith in us,” Laslow replied. “We can only hope it wasn’t horribly misplaced.”

Lilith shook her head, then changed the subject. “We shouldn’t stay much longer,” she said. “I can mess with the time a little, fuzz how long we were in this realm, but not by much. I’d rather no one came looking for us back in Nohr.”

“Good point,” Selena said, then cast another look around. “You know, there’s a _lot_ we could do with this place,” she pointed out. “Especially with all these Dragon Veins. How many people can you bring through at once? Or do we even need you? Is there another way we can get here?”

Lilith paused. “I don’t think you could find your way here without my aid,” she said thoughtfully. “But it’s no harder to transport several people than it is one. Why?”

“We could… I dunno, turn it into a fort or something,” Selena said. “A base of operations. It _is_ really handy to be able to just jump here and talk without having to worry about being overheard. Sucks that we need you to bring us, though.” She shrugged. “Still, we can put some thought into it.”

“Agreed,” said Lilith, then held out her hand once more. With far less hesitation, the other three took it, green grass and blue skies once more fading into oblivion.

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—November 12, 635**

“We should, I think, avoid being seen together as best we can,” Lilith whispered before Laslow’s head had even cleared. “I appeared from nowhere just as you three did… best, perhaps, to defer anyone connecting us.”

“Not a bad point,” Odin mused, casting a wary look around the stable. “Laslow? Was there more you wanted to tell us?”

Shaking his head one final time, Laslow answered, “Yes. Tons.” He glanced at Lilith. “Uh… you’ll excuse us?”

She nodded. “Well met, Laslow, Odin, and Selena—from the same side this time, at least.” She dipped her head, securing her maid’s cap once more, and ducked down the aisle out of sight.

Laslow blew out a breath, watching after her for a long moment. The stable suddenly seemed like a far less viable place for secrecy. “Roof?”

“Roof,” Odin and Selena both agreed.

They marched up in relative silence, the cold November sky hanging ominously above their heads as they ascended.

“So,” Selena said when they reached the flat-topped tower on which Laslow had first discovered his dancer magic those months ago. “The king kidnapped Lady Corrin when she was a kid and decided to pass her off as his daughter. Discuss.”

“It’s not as strange as you think it is,” Laslow said, then broke off when they both shot him looks. “Okay, well, actually it is. But it makes more sense in context, at least. Right.” He nodded to himself. “So all our royal siblings are actually _half_ siblings. His Majesty used to get around, apparently. Like, evidently, there used to be _more_ of them. Most, if not all, were mothered by mistresses. So it’s not as difficult to bring Lady Corrin in with that story as you might think it would be.”

Odin tilted his head, then said, “It adds up. Lord Leo himself mentioned to me that his mother was never queen… And then promptly refused to elaborate. I’ve been wondering how that fit.”

“That’s… just… all right,” Selena said, shaking her head. “So he kidnaps her, plots a way to keep her where he wants her… but why? What’s he _want_ with her?” She paled abruptly. “Do you think he _knows?”_

“Oh,” Laslow blurted. _“Yikes.”_ He paused. “It’s possible, I guess, but why would he have her here then?”

“And another thing,” Odin added. “If he kidnapped her from where she was staying in Hoshido… Since Mikoto’s queen now, how did that not cause a war?”

“A very good question,” Laslow said. “All _very_ good questions… That we still have no answers to. More digging required, I suppose.” He frowned. “That digging may be best suited to yours truly, as it is. I’m not sure Lord Xander will be especially happy with me if you two start poking around right after he told me all this.”

“How _did_ he end up telling you all that?” Selena asked. “He doesn’t seem the type to bring old skeletons out of the closest.”

“He’s not,” Laslow replied, then added dryly, “They might cast a terrible shadow across the _glory of Nohr._ No, it was an accident really. When he was telling me about the mistresses and the kids that died, he said four siblings when he meant five. I put most of it together and poked him for the rest of it.”

“My, Laslow,” Odin said. “Braved the wyvern’s den?”

“Kinda felt like it, yeah,” Laslow replied with a smirk that quickly faded. “And… I’m gonna have to do it again, aren’t I?” He sighed. “Okay, so. Lady Elise and Lady Corrin don’t know. Lord Xander and Lady Camilla knew all along, and Lord Leo found out a couple years ago. Lord Leo _might_ actually talk to me if it were anything else… but I get the feeling this isn’t a topic I especially want to broach with him.”

“How’s that, then?”

Laslow shook his head, thinking absently of the expression he’d deemed _lovesick_ from the previous night and deciding such a theory was best not to voice yet. “I think he’s… more aware of it than the other two,” he finally decided on. “I get the feeling he’d be touchy about it.”

Selena shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess, if he spent who knows how many years thinking she _was_ his sister and then found out one day she wasn’t and he couldn’t tell her.”

“Milord bears his burdens quietly,” Odin said with a shake of his head. “I admit it felt a great privilege when he confided in me so readily on matrimonial subjects the other day.”

“Matrimonial whatsits?” Selena asked.

“Oh yeah, there’s that too,” Laslow said, running a hand through his hair. “Lady Corrin’s not their sister, Lord Leo’s engaged to Lady Gisela, and oh-by-the-way Soleil’s the daughter of Lord Xander’s dead previous retainers, if anyone was curious about that.”

Both his companions shot him astounded looks. “Oh _kay,”_ Selena said. “I leave for _two weeks_ and you guys find out all _that?”_

“Oh, forget two weeks, dear Selena, that’s all been in the last two days.”

“No,” Odin said. “Lord Leo found out about his erstwhile engagement almost a week and a half ago.”

“Yeah, but _I_ didn’t find out about it until last night. Er, early this morning, technically,” Laslow said.

“Right. And _you’re_ the important one in that development, Laslow,” Selena said dryly.

“Yes I am, thank you for acknowledging,” Laslow said with a grin.

“And,” Selena reminded them, “I don’t even know who Lady Gisela _is.”_

“Ah, right,” Laslow said. Selena had already been gone when they’d returned from Ellyon. “Duke Wilhelm’s daughter. We met her when we were in Diabola.”

“Duke Wilhelm has a _daughter?_ ” After a long moment, the redhead sighed and shook her head. “All right,” she said. “In the wake of all _that,_ I think I need to sit down and think before my head explodes.”

“There’s, ah,” Laslow began, having not quite decided on the course of action until the words spilled past his lips. “One more, actually.”

Selena groaned, then threw her head back and flung her eyes to the sides. “Fine. Hit me.”

A beat passed. “So, ah,” Laslow said again. “You know how being here we look… different. And we’re sort of… boosted.” She nodded, eyeing him warily. “Well, it’s… the thing is… Things kind of almost went very badly last night, and actually me getting hurt probably _stopped_ things from going very badly, and it’s probably for the best that you know in case I need a cover story at some point soon because I am still very much struggling with it, unfortunately—”

“Would you,” Selena cut in, “stop dancing around it and come out with it?”

The cousins exchanged glances. “Well, that’s a bit ironic,” Laslow said.

 _“What_ is?” Selena demanded, crossing her arms expectantly.

“Ah… well…”

“Our patron god in this dimension gave him dancer magic,” Odin finally interjected with a sigh. “Really really _strong_ dancer magic that he’s barely equipped to handle. Think Aunt Olivia’s power without any clue what he’s supposed to do with it.”

“I have a _clue,”_ Laslow said hotly. “I’m just… not very good at it.”

A very long moment dragged out.

“Oh, and you didn’t think to _TELL ME THAT?”_ Selena snapped. “Oh, hmm, Selena doesn’t need to know that, we’ll just keep this incredibly important and relevant information to our stupid little boys’ club— _gawds,_ I hate you both so much sometimes! How long have _you_ known that, Odin?”

“It’s… er… been about… July?” he ventured sheepishly.

“Leave him be, Sev, I’m the one who asked him to keep quiet about it.”

“Don’t _Sev_ me!” she said, rounding on Laslow. “Not here, not now, not when you’ve just told me _that!”_ She huffed, hands on her hips, five and a half feet of pure fire that finally settled a little even though she didn’t stop glaring at him. “I’m assuming you have _something_ resembling a halfway decent reason for keeping this from me?”

“...Kind of,” Laslow admitted. “It’s… well, I was kind of hoping I’d be able to use you for a test subject when I got it under control, so I could figure out how it would really work with someone who wouldn’t be suspicious… but that control is still a long way off, I’m afraid.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can just about keep it completely shut down now when I fight, if I’m paying it _complete_ attention. The second my mind wanders…” He shrugged.

Selena sighed. “Cool. So you’re basically one giant, walking liability of absolute suspicion. Great. Why did we come here again?”

Laslow tried to bury his sharp intake of breath at that. He thought of Lilith and Kamui, of five divine weapons when they could only count two remotely allied with them, of magic he could barely control and a task to save the world that only seemed to grow more impossible by the day.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he whispered.

~~~

_Why did we come here again?_

Laslow had stayed, long after his friends had left, when snow started drifting from dark-bellied clouds and the cold stone surrounding him hadn’t gotten any warmer.

He didn’t dance this time—he didn’t dare, when it always laid so close to the surface and he could only just, _just_ ignore it with the most concentrated of efforts. Just another of Nohr’s cruelties, he thought, though he couldn’t strictly lay the fault at the feet of Nohr itself; that the magic he’d longed for so many years had become more hindrance than help to him, and in doing so had soundly denied him even the mundane hobby of dancing.

Longing choked him abruptly, for Dai’chi’s cool river breeze, for open airy apartments that they’d throw open to the outside the moment the weather agreed, for quiet evenings with his legs warmed by a kotatsu’s cover and very likely a cat in his lap. It hit with shattering strength that made his eyes ache with tears and his next breath tremble.

Because now it was _reachable._

He’d been glad the thought hadn’t occurred to him until Lilith had gone and even Odin and Selena had left—he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he’d had the idea in pleasant company.

Because now they had Lilith.

And if Lilith could bring them to the Astral Plane, she could surely send him to Valla.

And from Valla he could go _home._

The thought circled with intoxicating allure, hot on the heels of his recent conversation with Odin. Laslow had placated himself for six months with the knowledge he _couldn’t_ go home, however badly he wanted to; now that veneer had been stripped away. He could rise to his feet any moment he chose and take, at worst estimate, half an hour to find Lilith. A handful of moments for her to bring him to Valla, a handful more to bring him back to the Mila Tree. From there, two weeks to Dai’chi.

Yet he hadn’t moved from his perch on the roof’s thick stone railing, though the cold had sunk into him and snow was steadily gathering on every flat plane of him.

He let his eyes flutter nearly shut, almost able to imagine through his half-lidded gaze that the swirling snow could coalesce into the figure he ached for more than any desire for Chon’sin. If she could have come—if it hadn’t been for that stupid meeting that had prevented her from leaving Dai’chi when he needed her most—

“Laslow?”

His eyes snapped open—and for one beautiful, heart-wrenching moment _she was there—_

 _“Say’ri,”_ he breathed, on his feet without a second thought.

Reality took him in its teeth and shook him a heartbeat later, and the weight of it nearly brought him to his knees.

The form before him, gazing at him curiously, was half a foot too tall to be Say’ri; her figure was too full, the thin wisps of hair escaping her hood a brilliant white rather than deep raven. “Laslow?” she said again.

“Lady Corrin,” he said quickly, hoping he could disguise his urgent leap upright as the simple respect for her presence. “What can I do for you?”

“Do?” she asked blankly, before her mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ of realization. “Oh! No no! I don’t need you for anything! I’m sorry, I didn’t even know you were up here!” Her cheeks flushed visibly scarlet in the night. “I’ll leave you be!”

“It’s perfectly all right, milady, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Laslow said, surprised by how smooth his voice came out. “I am, after all, merely a guest in your home.”

Corrin paused, tilting her head and twisting her hands anxiously together. “Oh. You’re sure I’m not disturbing you?”

“Not at all, milady.”

“Then…” She hesitated, then said in a mousy voice, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Laslow paused as well, taken aback by the request, then lightly and perhaps imprudently answered, “Sure.”

Corrin gathered her skirts and perched herself beside him, giving him a long and owlish look before she spoke. “I wanted to thank you,” she said quietly. “For helping my brothers find me last night.”

“It wasn’t any trouble, milady,” Laslow said. “It _is_ my job, you know.”

“But it _was_ trouble,” she insisted. “I know you got hurt—how are you, by the way, are you all right? Leo was out for the better part of a week when he got hit by a Faceless earlier this year.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse,” Laslow said with a shrug. “Much worse, actually—although Lord Xander probably wouldn’t appreciate me filling your head with that sort of talk, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“Xander doesn’t control what I talk about,” Corrin said, with a slightly mulish lift of her chin.

“No, nor me,” Laslow said with a short laugh, “although he’d probably rather he did in my case.”

Corrin gave him an odd look at that, then shrugged herself. “I’m glad he has you,” she said softly. “For a while, after his last retainers…” She trailed off. “Well, he’s better now, and I’m glad.”

The conversation had suddenly veered in a _very_ unexpected direction, and it was one Laslow wasn’t especially keen on, if he was being honest with himself. “So then…” he began instead. “What brings you out here?”

“Oh…” said Corrin, tilting her head in that odd fashion of hers. “I just like to come out and think sometimes, really. It’s nice out here. You can see the stars.” She paused and sent a pointed glance skywards. “Well… not tonight, you can’t,” she finished sheepishly.

“Fair enough,” said Laslow. “Although the snow’s nice in its own way. We don’t usually get much, where I’m from. A little in January and February, sometimes, but mostly it’s just rain.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Corrin said thoughtfully. “I usually start getting sick of the snow around March. We’re getting close to everything freezing for months, now.”

“Heh,” Laslow let out abruptly, getting a baffled look in return.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s… nothing,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Freezing. It just reminded me of something.”

“...Something funny, by the look of it?”

“It’s… yeah, all right, you might get a kick out of it,” he admitted. “So, when I was right about your age—”

“Eons ago?” Corrin teased.

 _“Oi,”_ Laslow said, puffing up. “I’ll have you know I’m just shy of a year _younger_ than Lord Xander, thank you very much.” She sent him a grin that he made a show of ignoring. “Anyways, so for a while I had this sort of… friend slash family slash army group I was a part of. Odin and Selena too. We were called the Shepherds; there were about forty of us, give or take. And the Shepherds had this really, really ridiculous tradition.”

“Okay?”

“So, you know, being close like we were, with fighting and bonding… Things were wont to blossom, if you will,” he said. “And whenever anybody from the Shepherds got engaged, the rest of us would get together and throw the new couple in the nearest body of water.”

“...Why?”

“Oh, it started long before my time,” Laslow explained. “With my… with my parents, actually. When my dad announced he was marrying my mother, this one guy called Vaike got so excited he went to give my dad a hug and ended up tackling him.” He chuckled. “Well, my dad had had the brilliant idea to make the announcement on the side of the lake.”

“Oh no!” Corrin said, a hand flying up to cover her mouth.

“Yup. So my mother jumped in after him, everyone thought it was hilarious—Vaike especially—and then… the rest was history. It just became a _thing._ Anyways, so skip forward. Had this friend called Gaius.” Laslow pointedly did not mention the fact that Gaius was actually Selena’s _father_ despite being Laslow’s near-contemporary. “He’s… hmm, a bit like Niles, but then go ahead and take Niles’s entire sense of humor and replace it with an absolute _obsession_ for sweets. So Gaius doesn’t want to get dunked. He waits until that one cold snap in January, picks a day when _everything_ is froze clean over, and _then_ proposes. Then he and his bride-to-be flee the country before the frost breaks.”

“No!” said Corrin, with a mad set of giggles overlapping her words. “Then what did they do?”

“Gaius avoids Vaike like the plague and then watches his back very, _very_ carefully when they’re in the same country. It’s worked so far.”

She giggled again at that, briefly, though it awkwardly faded into silence a moment later. “Must be nice,” she finally said musingly. “To have that sort of camaraderie.”

“I suppose so, yes,” Laslow said, giving her an appraising look out of the corner of her eye.

Corrin sighed and fixed her gaze on a distant point. “I don’t know what that’s like,” she whispered. “I don’t know anyone outside of this place except my siblings and their retainers. Even Father… I haven’t seen him since I was five years old, when I first came here. I barely remember what he looks like.”

Laslow’s knowledge that Garon was far from being Corrin’s father didn’t ease the ache in her voice. “I’m sorry,” he quietly offered. “For what it’s worth… you deserve better.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard, her lips twitching slightly. “I mean, if I’ll never… I’d just like to know what it’s like, you know? To see the world, talk to strangers… traveling and meeting people and… I mean, it’d be nice to fall in love someday, you know? Things like that. Things I can’t do.” She finally glanced back at him. “In some ways I envy you, Laslow. Everything you’ve seen and done and everyone you’ve cared for… I can see it on your face even when you don’t talk about it.”

Well, he certainly hadn’t expected _that_ depth of candidness to come into the conversation. “And in some ways I envy you, milady,” he returned. “The world is a beautiful place indeed… and a cruel one, oftentimes. Every sparkling city has those streets which shouldn’t be ventured down. Strangers aren’t always as keen to know you as you are to know them. And even those you love the most can leave you behind… or you leave them behind.”

He hadn’t realized he’d curled his fingers around the ring hanging from his neck through his clothes until Corrin’s gaze dropped pointedly to it. Laslow paused for a moment, then forced himself to lower his hand to his knee.

“I used to think better of the world,” he said softly. “I used to believe in the people who live in it. I’m not quite sure when I stopped.” He sighed. “Hold on to that for as long as you can, Lady Corrin. I don’t know if you can get it back when it leaves you.”

Corrin stared at him, crimson eyes piercing and a little too close for polite company. He’d noticed a while back that she didn’t always seem to notice or care for such social norms. “I think you can,” she finally said quietly. “You just have to choose to.”

It occurred to Laslow then that her shoulders were awfully narrow to bear the weight of the world. As narrow as his had been, perhaps, eight years gone—when he’d first curled his fingers around Falchion’s hilt and realized there was no one else in front of him to wield it.

And who would be there to shore her up, as his friends had for him? Would she be able to stand by the four she thought of as her siblings when she learned they were no such thing? Who would bear arms at her side and be Corrin’s Owain, her Chrom, her Lucina?

Laslow had made a promise, however intoxicating the idea of rescinding on it might be.

“Perhaps you’re right, milady,” he murmured. “I’d like to think you are. I’d like to think… that hope will never truly die.”

He rose to his feet, new determination welling in his chest.

Home could wait. Nohr still needed him.


	33. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is the world you've created, the product of what I've become  
>  My soul and my youth, seems it's all for you to use  
> If I could take back the moment I let you get under my skin  
> Relent or resist, seems the monster always wins..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I couldn't hang on to this one any longer, so up it goes. Happy early Thanksgiving to my American readers!

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—November 13, 635**

It was, all told, a startlingly quiet afternoon for Krakenburg. Garon certainly hadn’t gotten word of Corrin’s escapade, since Leo’s hide was still in one piece, and considering the uncanny peace of the day he perhaps hadn’t even heard of the misplaced Faceless themselves.

The prim knock of an arriving, if belated, lunch delivery came to Leo’s door. He called for the servant’s entrance, waving to the narrow spot on his desk free from paperwork and otherwise not looking up until the tray had been deposited and a familiar “Lord Leo,” reached his ears.

Leo glanced up, startled, his brows furrowing as he made eye contact. “Jakob? When did you get here?”

Corrin’s butler tilted his head, his silver hair as immaculately combed as ever. “There’s a fever going around the lower levels right now,” Jakob said. “I was called in a week ago to ease the short-handedness.”

“A _week?”_ Leo couldn’t help but blurt, expression crumpling into further confusion as he thought heavily back over the past few days. _Hadn’t_ he seen Jakob when he’d been in the Northern Fortress for two out of the last three days? It took a moment to sort through those tangled, anxious hours, but he’d _certainly—_

 _“Jakob and Gunter are out looking as well, but so far there’s no sign…”_ Flora had said.

And, yes, Leo _did_ remember speaking to Jakob as part of the group he’d gathered before broaching the initial idea to Corrin—

“You’ve been here… all week, then?” Leo asked, hoping the sinking mass of confusion and dread in his stomach didn’t come through in his voice.

“I have, milord,” Jakob said. “Though it looks like the worst of the fever has swept through now—I imagine I’ll be returning to the Northern Fortress within the next few days.” He paused, then asked, “Is there a problem, milord?”

Leo had to glance down at his desk before he could force out a level “No.” _Yes. Yes there very much is._ “No problem at all. You’re dismissed, Jakob. Thank you for your flexibility in coming here and safe travels back north.”

Jakob nodded, bowed, and went on his way.

No sooner had the door closed did Leo leap to his feet, lunch forgotten as he took Brynhildr to hand. The laws of reality itself defied the concept of one man being in two places, and Leo only knew of one person who could create such an illusion.

And just where that person’s loyalties currently laid.

He palmed open Brynhildr still with a sick sense of foreboding, wondering just when he’d last given his room a once-over for scrying spells. Evidently, if he couldn’t answer his own question, the answer was _far too long ago—_ how had he neglected a habit he’d once held to so religiously? His tome flickered aglow in his hands and Leo began his resigned, methodical search.

The first he found tucked up under his desk, a familiar icy lattice of blue, purple, and silver that showed only at the press of Brynhildr’s prodding. Leo knelt, craning his head before hissing a long incantation that gradually tore the spell out by its seams until it collapsed under its own weight and dissipated back into the air. The second crept up the very inside of the middlemost bookshelf nearest his bathroom; his bathroom itself seemed clean until he happened to glimpse the faintest of glimmers from behind his mirror, and that last seemed to be the most stubborn of all. It was all perhaps half an hour’s work—half an hour that could have been prevented by a three-minute check once a week and a modicum of caution that he’d foolishly abandoned.

 _Complacent idiot,_ Leo thought to himself. His lunch laid cold and untouched on his desk—and it served him right, perhaps. A much cruder word popped into his head as the implications began to sink in.

As if summoned by his liege’s uncharacteristic language, even in thought, Niles entered. “Milord,” he said, without waiting for Leo to even openly acknowledge him. “We have a problem.”

“Yes,” Leo said grimly, thinking of a doubled-up Jakob and disastrous plans to defy Corrin’s imprisonment that had been foolishly, _openly_ discussed in a room with a trio of scrying spells. “We do.”

Niles, however, pulled up short. “You… already know, milord?”

Something in his tone tipped Leo off. “...Know what?” he asked warily.

Niles seemed torn between pausing for thought and blurting out his news. “I think word’s gotten out somehow,” he said. “Someone’s had Odin taken in for questioning.”

~~~

Odin had, after the excitement of the past few weeks, actually been having a very good day.

Leo, pleading the excuse of _wanting some damned peace and quiet,_ had put Niles on light duty and given Odin the day off completely. Odin had stayed with Ophelia as soon as they’d gotten back from the Northern Fortress until after lunch, when he’d finally dragged himself away with the self-imposed reminder that his room needed a solid cleaning, as did most of his laundry.

It would give him time to think, at least. They were still deciding just what to do with the recent revelations regarding both Lilith and Kamui.

As he reluctantly made his way up the stairs, he gave an absent wave to the pair approaching from the other direction—a half-minded courtesy that only drew his full attention when the two parted slightly, effectively blocking off the entire stairwell.

Odin paused, brow furrowing slightly, though he still let out a cheery “Hail there, friends!”

The left partner, a woman perhaps ten years his senior with her brown hair pulled back in a no-nonsense braid, tilted her head. “You are Odin, retainer to Prince Leo?”

“I am,” Odin said, though he found himself trying to place the pair’s clothing. It was plainly a uniform, though one he didn’t immediately recognize, both of them wearing a blue-trimmed black tunic over pressed black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt.

The freckled, fair-faced man said, “We’ll need you to come with us.”

“Does Lord Leo require me for something?” Odin asked. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that something had come up to curb his day off, but this pair seemed far too formal to be Leo’s usual choices in messenger.

“Not as such,” the woman replied, then gave a wide gesture to follow them. “This way, please.”

They went up the rest of the current staircase, swung left through a long hallway, then started steadily descending again. Krakenburg was a maze like no other royal residence Odin had ever been in, leaving him absently wondering what percentage of it he’d still yet to explore.

Finally, they entered a small, dim room that held a desk and three chairs; one chair was on the side nearest the door, while the other two faced it from across the desk.

“Sit,” the woman said, gesturing to the single seat. There was an odd sort of crisp compulsion in her words, as though Odin _couldn’t_ disobey, or as if something very, very bad would happen if he did.

Odin sat.

“Drink this,” she continued with that same compulsion, briskly working her way around the desk and dropping a pale blue liquid in front of him. It looked like a shot glass, though Odin had the distinct feeling it wasn’t alcohol.

He hesitated, old training against strange people and stranger liquids warring with the _need_ to obey her words had ignited in him. Finally, tentatively, he sipped at it, though he nearly gagged at the sickly-sweet taste. The two conversed in low tones, words indistinct, though he thought he caught their names as Brigitte and Heinrich.

His head swam abruptly, an ache pounding behind his eyes. _This seems… less than ideal,_ Odin thought, though making for the door suddenly seemed like an utterly impossible option.

The uniforms clicked, then, falling together with brief glimpses, an off-hand mention from Leo, and the symbolism of the colors themselves. Blue, a color associated with truth; black and white, so steeped in their joint meaning that they’d worked their way into the regular vernacular of _seeing the world in black and white._

_Veritasages._

“Why… am I here?” Odin asked, though his tongue felt thick and clumsy and he had to concentrate very hard on the words.

The two exchanged glances, then looked to him, then moved as one to take the seats across from him. “Don’t think too hard about your answers,” said Brigitte smoothly. “The truth will come, and it will be easier for all of us if you don’t fight it.”

Odin straightened a little in alarm, though the room spun as he did. Whatever they’d given him worked _fast,_ apparently, and he cursed himself for playing along so easily.

Shuffling a stack of papers out of the way and quickly dipping a quill in ink, Heinrich said, “State your name for the record.”

 _Owain_ sprung to his lips, quickly and automatically; it nearly spilled out, as a matter of fact, before reminders of more important things went streaking across his head in a blind panic. _No, not that! You can’t tell them THAT!_ “I am…” he began, ignoring the slight, burning cramp in his tongue and the pulse in his forehead as he spoke, “Odin Dark, retainer to Prince Leo, Scion of Legend, Hero of Ages, Defender of Good—”

“All right, that’s plenty,” Heinrich said, a touch dryly, though he gave no indication of catching Odin’s lie and kept on scribing.

 _Interesting,_ Odin thought absently. He half-expected one of them to laugh in triumph and call him out. Neither one did, though, just moving briskly on.

“When did you come into the service of Prince Leo?”

“June the fourth of this year was when I was officially granted my post,” Odin quickly answered, “though I did not assume my full duties in Krakenburg until the sixteenth.”

“And during that time,” Brigitte continued, “has His Highness ever given you orders you would have cause to question?”

“Question?” Odin asked, frowning. “You mean, orders I didn’t feel comfortable fulfilling?” At their nods, he tilted his head. “No. Never.” He leaned forward. “Why would he? For I, Odin Dark, have been capable of even the direst of tasks he has set before me!”

A beat passed. “Clarify ‘dire,’” Heinrich said.

“Oh,” said Odin. “Well, Lord Leo sent me to find a lodestone imbued with the essence of darkness. And I did! Then, I was tasked with bringing back a sample of the rare arctic dwarfthorn plant which grows on the edges of the northern wastelands. Recently, he asked me to defeat some spirits which had been plaguing the Woods of the Forlorn… And all that, of course, was before our recent adventure in the bowels of Ellyon…”

“I see,” said Heinrich. “And has His Highness ever given you the reasoning for performing such tasks?”

“Well, we were in Ellyon researching the Diabolan Faceless,” Odin said, his tongue still feeling too loose for his own good. “But for the rest, not as such. Some I believe are to sate his personal curiosity, others to defend the good of Nohr itself! So no, I have never felt untoward about any missions my liege has sent me on.”

 _Why are they asking me this?_ some rational part of him that remained queried. _Have I displeased Lord Leo somehow? Has he found my service less than genuine?_

In Odin’s puzzled pause, Brigitte spoke again. “Now,” she said, “when was the last time you accompanied His Highness to the Northern Fortress?”

“We returned just this morning,” Odin said. “We’d been there since the morning of the eleventh—”

He broke off with a cold wash of realization.

“And how was your trip?” Brigitte pressed. “Did anything of note happen while you were there?”

This wasn’t a summons Leo had authorized, Odin abruptly understood. This summons was to do with _Corrin._ It was, almost certainly, designed as a pointed strike _against_ Leo.

Well, he couldn’t allow _that._

“Odin?” Brigitte pressed gently, in a way that said such a distraction wasn’t uncommon. “Did anything happen during your visit to the Northern Fortress?”

“Yes,” Odin said, too quickly, trying in vain to stop up his tongue. “We—”

_We broke out Lady Corrin, then we lost her, then we had to save her, but everything is fine—No! You can’t tell them that! Lord Leo would be in trouble with the king, and he might even—_

“We… heard about… Diabolan Faceless in the woods,” Odin said, his mouth burning again at the half-truth. _Stupid truth serums!_ “Lord Leo… and Lord Xander… and Niles and Laslow and I went to investigate.”

“About what time was that?”

“Maybe… eight?” The word almost made him choke— _that_ was a bald-faced lie, as they hadn’t known anything about the Faceless until after nine o’clock, but again the veritasages showed no sign they noticed.

“And was anyone else present for this?”

Oh no. “Um… we found some members of the National Defense in the woods,” Odin said. _And Lady Corrin. And Felicia._ “And…” _No!_ “And…” _You can’t tell them!_ “And… F-F-Fel…”

There was, abruptly, a rattle at the doorknob that cut him off and made all three members of the room nearly jump out of their skins. The door was locked, whoever was on the other side pausing at the realization, while Brigitte sighed and got to her feet in a plain effort to go warn them off.

She didn’t have the chance when the door _flew_ open, banging against the stone wall with such a sound Odin nearly fell out of his chair. The figure in the opening was so shadowed as to have been unrecognizable but for the bright purple glow of Brynhildr still in his hand.

 _“What,”_ Leo began as he stepped inside, eyes flashing and voice as hard as Odin had ever heard it, “is the meaning of this?”

“Your Highness!” Heinrich cried, leaping to his feet and being quickly echoed by Brigitte. “Your Highness—er, Prince Leo, we meant no offense—”

“You have _certainly_ failed at that!” Leo snapped. “How _dare_ you bring my retainer in for questioning without my permission! I ought to have both of you stripped of your titles!”

Some part of Odin warmed at that, a wide grin spreading over his face. _Milord… as epic as ever!_

“We were under orders!” Brigitte cried, which only succeeded in getting Leo’s furious attention to round on her.

 _“Whose_ orders?”

“It was—well, I mean—” Brigitte began again, stepping back as she floundered under the full weight of the prince’s displeasure.

Resigned, Heinrich sighed. “The orders were Iago’s, Your Highness. We were only following them.”

Leo seemed to calm the slightest bit, though his voice was still hard when he spoke. “Iago. Well, that makes things simple then.” He clapped Brynhildr shut. “Tell me, either of you. Does Iago suddenly outrank _the second prince of Nohr?”_

A painfully long silence dragged out. “No, Your Highness,” Brigitte finally ventured, quailing.

“No,” Leo repeated. “He does not. As I said, it makes things simple, as you are both _unequivocally_ in the wrong.” He stowed Brynhildr and crossed his arms. “And if I ever hear of you or any of your cohorts _ever_ daring to take in a royal retainer without the _express_ permission of their liege under _any_ orders less than the king’s himself, gods help you. Now get out of here before I lose my last vestiges of goodwill and end both of your careers tonight.”

He didn’t have to tell them twice.

Leo clicked the door shut behind them, startlingly quiet and final after the force with which he’d blown it open earlier. He slumped a little, hand still on the knob.

“Lord _Leo,”_ Odin finally whispered with reverence. “That was _amazing.”_

Leo let out a soft snort, still not turning around. “I’m glad you thought so, Odin.”

“But _of course I do,_ milord!” Odin said. “You _rescued_ me from those nefarious evildoers who sought to twist my tongue against you… you didn’t have to do that…”

“Well, yes, actually, I did,” Leo drawled, “since I’d prefer to avoid having my father take a chunk out of my hide for my recent actions…” He finally sighed, straightened, and turned back to face Odin. “All right, then. Tell me how much trouble I’m about to be in.”

Odin tilted his head. “What do you mean, milord?”

“They wanted to know about… our erstwhile adventure, I’m sure?” Leo prodded.

“Oh. That? Well, yes. But I didn’t _tell_ them,” Odin said.

Leo paused, then abruptly crossed the room to check the transcript Heinrich had left behind. “You didn’t—” he began, giving a cursory glance to the papers, then letting out a short bark of laughter. “Well if I don’t have the devil’s own luck,” he said incredulously as he scanned it. “Apparently the god of excellent timing had me in his good graces today. _Dusk Dragon._ I thought for sure I was done for.”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble,” Odin said. “So I thought… I was trying really hard not to tell them… I thought I could mislead them…”

Leo set the papers down, crossing once more around the desk to crouch at Odin’s eye level. He lifted his hand, steadying Odin’s head, possibly checking his eyes. “Much as I appreciate the thought, Odin, I’m going to say you’re probably too high to lie about your own mother’s name. They gave you some strong stuff.”

Odin tilted his head. “Why would I lie about my mother’s name?” he asked. “‘Lissa’ is a grand and privileged moniker and I am honored to bear the title of her son—” He broke off. “Oh. I see what you mean.”

Leo smirked a little at that. “Yes, I figured you would.” He straightened, giving Odin a contemplative look. “Right. I really ought to go call off Niles, but I’d rather not leave you here truth-serumed to high heaven, either…” He sighed, frowned, then held out a hand.

“Where _is_ our dastardly clever friend?” Odin asked, then took a long moment to realize Leo was offering him an aid up.

“I had him go send word to Xander,” Leo began. “I was afraid we were going to be in need of immediate damage control—”

It was at that moment Odin took his liege’s hand and found his legs suddenly far less useful than usual. Instead of standing, he ended up almost sprawling on top of Leo.

 _“Gods above,”_ Leo half-gasped, only keeping them both from landing in a tangle of limbs on the floor by catching his hip on the desk. “Odin, what are you _made_ of?”

Odin paused contemplatively, then said, “Heroism, courage, and muscle. All of which together are evidently heavier than you expected.”

“And the worst part is,” Leo groaned without missing a beat, “I know for sure you _genuinely_ believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Odin asked. “There are worse things to be made of. Laslow, for instance, consists of panic, angst, and smarm. Among other things.”

“Maybe,” Leo said, finally managing to shift Odin’s arm across his shoulders so he could be in a reasonable support position, “you’d be better to just stay quiet until this all wears off.”

“That’s a bit boring, isn’t it?” Odin asked.

“Oh, yes, _terribly_ so,” Niles interjected from the doorway. “It’d be a _tremendous_ waste.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Did you find Xander?” he asked. “There’s no need for him now, fortunately. I got here just in time.” Still bracing Odin with one arm, he gestured to the stack of papers with the other. “Take those. There’s nothing incriminating, but I’d still feel better if they were burned.”

Niles nodded and did as he was bid. “Lord Xander’s on his way to your quarters, though I can go head him off if you’d rather—”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll catch him up later,” Leo said. “Help me with Odin?”

A familiarly delighted grin came to Niles’s features. “Why, milord, of course I’ll _help,”_ he said. “So, Odin, any nefarious secrets lurking in that overly theatrical head of yours…?”

“I meant help me get him to _bed_ so he can sleep this off,” Leo cut in, exasperated, though Niles didn’t have time to rise to it before Odin answered the original question.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, my shadowy friend, for my mind is surely filled with the knowledge of dark and tragic secrets that tread through my conscious hours unendingly…”

“Oh ho, is it now?” Niles asked, propping himself up on Odin’s other side, then starting toward the exit. “How about… a little tidbit on your philandering cousin, then? Just a small mental snack for me to nibble on?”

 _“Niles,”_ Leo groaned again as they made their way out into the hallway.

“Hmm,” Odin continued nonetheless. “He’d likely be very angered if referenced a dark era of years past…”

“Don’t worry,” Niles said with a smirk. “I won’t kiss and tell.”

“Wait, who’s kissing?”

“Focus, Odin. Dark details. Ages past. Ringing any chimes up there?”

“Oh right… okay then. Laslow did have one grave flaw that stalked his potential on the battlefield… nay, it was a miracle misfortune did not snatch him in its talons sooner…”

“Ooh, a weakness then?” Niles prodded. Leo, evidently, had given up. “Do go on… after all, if we’re to help each other on the battlefield, it will be good knowledge to have, right?”

“You are wise beyond your youthful years, my friend! This is indeed true. Okay then…” Odin paused, taking in a deep inhale.

Niles leaned in, plainly with bated breath himself.

“Laslow used to fight…”

“...Yes…?”

“...with a breadknife.”

A long moment passed.

Niles finally sighed. “I should have known this was going to get me nowhere.”

“Honestly, it serves you right,” Leo pointed out.

“Ah, milord, so keen to wound,” Niles sighed. “I can’t believe you want to _waste_ this prime entertainment by sending him to _bed.”_

“Oh, go bother Laslow or something as soon as we’ve put him up,” Leo replied.

Niles lifted a brow. “Is that an order, milord? No, wait, don’t answer. If you don’t deny it I can pretend I misunderstood.”

Odin sighed, happy to enjoy the banter even if his tongue was too loose and his limbs didn’t work right. Then, abruptly, he stopped. “Wait,” he said. “But I need to do laundry. I can’t sleep… I don’t have any clean laundry.”

A long moment dragged out. “Odin,” Niles said seriously. “There are a lot of things you and Lord Leo could ask of me that I would happily do.” He paused. “I am _not_ doing your laundry.”

~~~

Leo waited in the dark for a good deal longer than thought he’d have to. When his intended target finally appeared, the prince didn’t bother to straighten, instead continuing to lean on the desk with all casualness.

“Hello, Iago,” he drawled when the other sorcerer quietly cursed the dimness and went reaching for a candle.

Iago himself swore rather satisfyingly, his eyes wide in the meager candlelight as he swung to face Leo. “Your Highness,” he managed, his voice steadier than Leo would have expected. He paused, plainly sizing up Leo’s intent before asking mildly, “Might I ask what you’re doing in my quarters?”

“Well, as it happens, I employ a former thief as one of my retainers,” Leo said, deliberately obtuse. “He’s quite adept at picking locks. It wasn’t terribly hard.”

Iago turned away, beginning to light the rest of the room as a faint smirk played on his features. “Ah, indeed. Loyal cronies are _quite_ the boon when they make themselves useful, aren’t they? Especially ones that find themselves indebted to you…”

Something in his words made Leo’s eyes narrow, made him draw a parallel he hadn’t quite before. Leo had brought Niles in off the streets, seeing something in him worth far more than the life of crime he’d been pushed into by the circumstances of his birth—and Niles indeed seemed to owe him a debt, though he didn’t begrudge it. Hans, under a different set of circumstances but peculiarly alike, had come from a similar background and had pulled out of it at Iago’s hand.

And Zola had joined, so soon after Leo had taken on Odin… Both dark mages with atypical talents, coming from nowhere with no real certainties about their loyalties. How _odd,_ Leo thought, though he only answered coolly, “Indeed, how true. Although I admit I just made a connection I hadn’t until now, and I’m quite impressed. Goodness, Iago, I didn’t realize how much you admired me; to go to such lengths to mimic my choice of retainers truly is flattering.”

Iago seemed genuinely _thrown_ by that comment—he pulled up short, casting Leo a calculating look that was innocently met, though soon enough he schooled his features. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re trying to say, Your Highness.”

“Ah, it’s no matter,” Leo said, waving a hand. “But your little ‘loyal cronies’ have been a bit busy lately, haven’t they? I hope you’re not running them ragged.” When Iago cast him another bemused look, Leo only straightened, his voice hardening. “Zola. In the Northern Fortress. Impersonating Jakob.” He took a step forward. “Scrying spells in my bedroom. My retainer being taken in for questioning without my knowledge or consent. It doesn’t paint a very pretty picture for you, does it, Iago?”

“I still don’t quite know what you’re talking about,” Iago told him.

“Oh, come off it,” Leo snapped, his voice rising from carefully metered coolness for the first time. “It doesn’t become either of us for you to pretend I’m stupid.” He squared his shoulders, noticing for the first time that he was satisfyingly _taller_ than Iago. “You were listening in on my conversations—for gods know how long, and that’s on me. But you caught an interesting tidbit the other day, didn’t you? Found out I was making plans regarding Corrin?” It pained him to speak so openly of the event, but if he didn’t press the advantage he’d lose it. “You called Jakob in, got him out of the way, sent Zola back in his place. Ah, no wonder the tea tasted so bad. Zola’s no good as a butler, is he? And then, today, you tried to force Odin to testify against me. Two witnesses to bring before my father, to say that I’ve violated his ruling by taking Corrin out of the Northern Fortress. Enough rope to hang even me.” His lips twisted into a smirk. “For what? A preemptive strike? I hate to tell you, Iago, but you’re too late for that. I already know.”

For once, Leo actually had Iago on the back foot, and the realization came with a sickening sense of glee. “And just what is it,” Iago asked, “that you think you know?”

“Your little… pet project, if you will?” Leo ventured, glancing up as if he were still searching for his words. “In Ellyon?”

Iago sounded as if he’d tried to bury his sharp intake of breath and hadn’t quite managed it, though his voice was still level when he answered. “And just what gives you that impression?”

“Oh, I had my suspicions,” Leo said airily. “But I knew for sure when I set off a trap that was keyed to go off at my blood.” He shrugged. “Ah, there were plenty of other clues. It didn’t take me long to put it together when I finally set _you_ in as the missing piece of the puzzle. The Diabolan Faceless first started showing up right after _you_ paid Duke Wilhelm a visit, just after we subdued Cheve. You and Xander went there, after I was injured, and were drowning in them—you and I went, two weeks later, and there were no signs. Afraid the spells would still be fresh enough for me to trace them to you, were you? Had to cover your tracks? We won’t go into the _circumstances_ of that injury which prevented me from coming in the first place, and just how convenient your timing was when you _rescued_ me… And then those little puzzles, the illusory magic, all beneath Ellyon itself… When you intended to be with us, intended to take the credit. The bridge designed to fail after the first person crossed, when you would have known to lead the way? Voices of our loved ones, screaming at us, when I doubt you’ve room in your shriveled little heart to care enough to hear anyone? It wouldn’t have mattered whether it had been Xander or myself with you when you found it, because we were never intended to make it out alive. I guess it was pure luck there was a Dragon Vein down there you couldn’t have known about that let me brute-force shut it all down.” He smirked. “Yes, plenty of clues. But I knew for sure the second I figured out you wed that spell to the blood of the Dusk Dragon. The one thing,” he said, “that will always separate you from me. My royalty. My dragon blood. The only reason you will never _truly_ be able to be my equal as a sorcerer.”

Iago looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon whole.

“Now,” Leo said, flicking absently through Brynhildr—he was flaunting that, too, quite deliberately, the one tome in the world Iago would never be able to wield. “Did I miss anything? Oh, the invisible soldier was a nice touch, too, I must admit.”

“With regards to _that_ ,” Iago said sharply, bitterly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Leo replied demurely. “Just like you’ve no idea about the Diabolan Faceless that suddenly appeared in the very woods which Corrin and I planned to traipse two nights ago, hmm?” He paused, murmured an incantation, and set all the candles in Iago’s room alight with Brynhildr’s familiar purple-white glow.

All at once, Iago’s tone hardened, his lip curling into a sneer. “You can’t bring _that_ piece to His Majesty’s attention,” he pointed out, “without, as you said, giving him enough rope to hang you with.”

“No,” Leo agreed. “I cannot. But on the other hand… you can’t bring my escapade to his attention when you know I will do the same to you. I cannot tell him that you’re behind the Diabolan Faceless without you telling him I broke Corrin out… and you cannot tell him I broke Corrin out without me telling him you’re behind the Diabolan Faceless.” He clapped Brynhildr shut again. “The phrase is, I believe, ‘mutually assured destruction.’”

“That is correctly applied,” Iago said. “So you intend to… what?” He smirked himself. “Leave me be?”

“I intend to bring you to Ellyon as soon as it thaws and personally ensure you shut it down,” Leo replied. “But other than that, yes. I have not, and will not, speak to another soul of your involvement—provided you make no further threat to me.”

A long moment passed. “You scheme with the best, Prince Leo,” Iago finally said. “Your mother would be terribly proud of you.”

“I’m going to assume you meant that as a compliment, though I have no intention of taking it as one,” Leo replied. “Though I believe you’ll find you have little room to maneuver around said schemes.”

“Perhaps.” Still with a little smile and a lightness in his tone that belied his words, Iago said, “Any more ultimatums?”

Leo paused, thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so. Unless you’ve something else to add… I think our business is finished.”

Iago paused, then shrugged. “I can’t say I do.”

“Well enough,” Leo said. He turned to leave.

“I await the day,” Iago muttered after him, “your back breaks from the weight of your sins.”

“My sins?” Leo asked mildly. “Why, my conscience is clean. I’ve done what I set out to do, after all. I’ve put an end to the Diabolan Faceless. The means by which I’ve done so don’t disturb me nearly as much as you might think they ought to. I grew up in the Nohrian court. Blackmail hardly even merits the title of sinful.”

Iago didn’t answer. Leo nearly made it to the door.

“I suppose it’s a good thing Lady Corrin came out of her ordeal relatively intact, then,” Iago said after him. “She might not be so lucky next time.”

For a heartbeat, for a breath, Leo didn’t answer. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move a hairbreadth.

Then he spun, Brynhildr alive in his heart as well as his hands, sending Iago sailing through the air until he hit the wall and _hung_ with his feet dangling several inches above the ground.

“I know you hate me,” Leo said, stalking back, “for whatever twisted justifications you’ve made for yourself. And frankly, I couldn’t give less of a damn if you slunk out of this room and blabbed to the king and got us both executed by sunrise tomorrow.” He paused, now looking slightly up at his foe, and said, “But so help me, if one of your schemes ever harms another hair on her head, I will make you rue the day you were born and long for the hour of your death. _Is that clear?”_

Iago, for once in his life, looked less than composed—Leo’s spells had him by the neck and the chest and he didn’t seem quite able to get a proper breath in. Leo let him gasp for a moment more before yanking Brynhildr’s grip away and letting the sorcerer fall harshly to his knees with an echoing thud.

“Lovely talk, Iago, glad we’re on the same page,” Leo offered with a mocking tip of his head.

He swung on his heel without another word—leaving Iago’s presence, for the first time in his life, without a shadow of doubt over their enmity.


	34. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Are we the hunters, are we the hunted?  
>  Are we the monsters? Show me the fear under your skin  
> Life is a game, are you gonna play now?  
> Should I run away, are you gonna stay now?  
> Who can you trust? Are you one of us?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgent opening scene is self-indulgent.

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—December 18, 635**

A month passed in relative quiet, happily welcome after the heady chaos of late October and early November. Xander had been too busy to manage another trip to the Northern Fortress of late, to Laslow’s disappointment, but it had been the ‘makework’ sort of busy rather than the ‘dire trouble’ sort.

Now, half a week off of the winter solstice and the annual knighting ceremony, Laslow had managed to wrangle himself another pseudo-day off, if only because Xander was busy entertaining the dignitaries who’d arrived for the occasion. Laslow had spent the morning grooming Skoll until even his thick winter coat gleamed and was now taking the contented destrier on a wander through the stable grounds.

Skoll spotted his brother before Laslow noticed, letting out a soft whicker of greeting and pricking his ears. Hati, even across the large arena and the open courtyard that separated them, pinned his own ears in distaste. Skoll drooped slightly at the rebuff, leaving Laslow chuckling.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he told the horse. “He’s not worth it.”

Despite his own words, Laslow found himself crossing the courtyard, drawn by curiosity. Leo somehow seemed even more at ease on the back of a horse than he did on his own two feet, a sort of prim grace to his posture. He had Hati stretched out to the very buckle of his double set of reins, the black stallion steaming as evidence to his workout as they made a wide lap of the arena.

It was Elise and Freddy who had run of the place at current, though, the young princess’s face screwed up in visible concentration as she worked the bay’s trot. Freddy had an impossibly round, flowing stride that put even Scottie’s to shame, testament to the breeding of his bloodline; his movement would have been flashy and _gorgeous_ if Elise didn’t look liable to be flung from the ever-anxious gelding’s back at any moment.

“Set your rhythm, Elise, there’s absolutely no need for him to run away from you like that,” Leo said, his tone both sharp and reassuring. He lifted three fingers from his reins in an absent wave to Laslow as he passed, though his attentions remained fixed on his sister. “He knows better, you know better, slow him down—with your _seat_ Elise, not your reins, honestly! Set your rhythm, keep him on your circle— _there_ you go, much better. Now keep that, put your leg on, and get him to stretch back into your hand. You had it earlier, do it again. Yes, that! Keep him just like that. Hello, Laslow.”

It took Laslow a long moment to recognize the greeting at the end of the lecture, and he nearly jumped from where he’d laid his forearms over the top rail of the fence. “Ah! Afternoon, Lord Leo. Hope we’re not disturbing you,” he said, gesturing to where Skoll was happily munching on the sparse brown weeks springing up between the stones.

Leo shook his head, bringing Hati to a halt within easy speaking distance without so much as twitching his fingers on the reins. “Not at all. Skoll’s not the troublemaker in the family.” Hati, seemingly understanding the conversation had circled to him, sent a suspiciously wide-mouthed glare toward the toe of Leo’s boot. “Don’t start,” the prince chided, then raised his voice again. “Much better, Elise. Now put him in a shoulder-fore and send him down the long side.”

Laslow watched Elise for a long moment, trying to pinpoint the thousand-and-one things Leo must have been seeing and noting, then finally ventured, “Is she having a hard time with him?”

Leo frowned slightly. “He’s a lot of horse for her,” he said. “And he spooks easily. They were doing well until a gust of wind startled him a few minutes ago.” He shook his head. “But she’s been fond of Freddy for long before she started riding him, and she’s determined to make it work. And, well, I’m _very_ familiar with how that sort of stubbornness works out.” The hint of a fond smile tugged on his lips while Hati bobbed his head.

“Ha! Are you implying Hati’s a difficult ride, milord? I would have never guessed!” Laslow said with a wide grin of his own.

“All right, Elise, that’s good. Let him walk,” Leo called, then glanced back at Laslow with a wicked sort of smirk. “Anytime you want to hop on him, you’re more than welcome.”

Laslow let out another laugh at that. “Right,” he said. “I’m sure you’re very keen to have every passing servant take your horse for a spin.”

Leo, meanwhile, only shrugged. “I never said I don’t let other people ride him,” he said. “It’s just that no one else ever wants to. He _has_ managed to maintain a one-hundred percent record of throwing every body that’s ever sat on his back. It’s actually startlingly impressive.” Hati twitched, then shook like an oversized dog in a motion that Leo still managed to follow effortlessly. “Well, Corrin will tell you otherwise, though I’ve told her it doesn’t count when I was the one actually in the saddle.”

Laslow narrowed his eyes, though he had to admit the idea was _sorely_ tempting in a way it probably shouldn’t have been. Nohrian warhorses were a class of their own in quality, like none he’d ever seen before… but _Hati…_ “So… how serious is that offer, exactly?”

Leo let out a short huff and shortened his reins as Hati started to wiggle and paw at the ground. “All right, then, if you’ve got the energy for that, clearly I haven’t worked you hard enough.” Then, to Laslow, “As serious as you’d like, I suppose.” Without another word and without Leo offering any sort of cue Laslow could discern, Hati sprung from a dead halt into a round, rolling canter.

Elise quickly came to take Leo’s vacated spot, Freddy looking grateful for the respite. “Hi, Laslow!” the princess said brightly. “How’s it going?”

Laslow offered her a grin, then said, “Actually, as it turns out… seems your brother’s just offered to let me ride his horse.”

“Really?” Elise said, eyes wide. “Whoa. Cool! Are you going to?”

Laslow shrugged. “You think I should?”

“Hmm…” Elise said. “Well, you might die,” she said casually. “But you might not.”

“Ha! A ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one,” Laslow said. “How could I possibly refuse now?”

Elise giggled. “Good luck,” she offered, then turned her attention back to her brother. Hati was springing over the centerline, changing canter leads with an elegant bounce as he went, though Elise called out a constructive “Late!”

“Thought so,” Leo muttered with a curt nod as he passed again.

He resumed his figure-eight, though this time Elise’s response to the centerline change was a bright “That one was clean!”

Laslow, meanwhile, exchanged a bemused glance with Skoll, glad the two Nohrian royals knew what they were talking about.

“He changed leads in the front before he did in the back, that first time,” Elise offered, seemingly sensing his confusion. “It’s not correct.”

“Does it matter that much?” Laslow mused.

She giggled at him. “Don’t let Leo hear you say that. But yeah, it kinda does. It’s to do with how horses balance and stuff. And why we ride from the hind end forward.” She tilted her head, watching as Leo made three changes over the diagonal that time instead of one. “Leo’s probably the best rider of all of us, you know. Although getting him to understand he might be _better_ than Xander at _anything_ is like trying to cast Ginnungagap blindfolded.” Before Laslow could answer, Elise beamed at Leo as he brought Hati back down to a walk and returned to the other two. “Good job, Leo!”

Leo only gave another short nod in response, rubbing a hand down his mount’s neck.

“All right, milord,” Laslow said, if only to break the silence. “I’ve been convinced.”

“Have you now?” Leo asked, with the immediate return of his earlier smirk. “In that case, then, fetch a lungeline when you put Skoll up.”

Laslow lifted a brow. “Lungeline?”

“You, on him, with a great big arena to yourself?” Leo asked, propping a hand on his hip. “I could hardly conjure a more perfect recipe for disaster. Lungeline, halter, lungewhip. They ought to be in mine and Xander’s tack room—you have the key, I presume?”

“Well, yeah,” Laslow said. “I just didn’t quite expect it to be _now.”_

“Now would be best, if you’re available. He’s tired already.”

Laslow paused, then shrugged. “I do have plans this afternoon, but they’re a little ways off still,” he said with a glance at the sun. “All right, then. Back in a tick.”

Still slightly buzzing from the idea—this was bound to go either terribly well or terribly badly—Laslow put Skoll up, leaving the stallion happily content with the fresh haynet that had been hung in his absence. He fetched what Leo had asked for, then reemerged from the stables cursing Nohrian winter as a fresh blast of cold air smacked him in the face.

Leo had just dismounted when Laslow ducked into the area, the prince gesturing as he reoriented himself. “Hold him if you would,” Leo said, giving Laslow’s lower half a lingering look before moving to adjust his stirrups several holes up.

Laslow did, giving the destrier a long and contemplative look. As Leo crossed to Hati’s other side, Laslow ventured, “So, getting excited at this point?”

With a sidelong glance, Leo asked, “Whatever for?”

“Three more days until your vigil,” Laslow pointed out lightly.

It took a moment for Leo to answer. “I suppose,” he finally said. “Though I can’t say I much look forward to the vigil itself as opposed to what it represents. It is, I’m informed, _mind-numbingly boring.”_

“Ah, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never pulled an all-nighter for the sake of a good cause,” Laslow said.

“I’d be lying to say I haven’t,” Leo admitted, coming back around Hati’s head and taking the halter from Laslow hand to bring it over Hati’s head. “Though never have I been disallowed to eat, drink, or speak from sundown to sunup.”

“Yeah, and that’s the _real_ kicker,” Elise interjected, still on Freddy’s back. “Leo’s afraid he might explode if that many hours of snark build up without him being able to tell anyone.”

Leo shot her such a perfected look of sibling disgust that Laslow had to muffle a snort in his elbow. “Honestly, Elise, I think there’s an adage about glass houses that would be apropos right now. I imagine you’ll be vibrating hard enough to shake out of your cloak by the time you have to stand _your_ vigil.”

Elise stuck out her tongue in return.

“Very mature,” Leo replied dryly.

Laslow muffled another laugh. Hati did not seem to approve of it, judging by the hard shove of a black head into Laslow’s chest.

Leo made a sharp sound of reproach that left the destrier quickly shaping back up. “Don’t let him cow you for my sake,” he told Laslow. “No need to be afraid to reprimand him. He’ll toe the line as long as you let him and then fling himself over said line with reckless abandon the second he thinks he’ll get away with it. Leg up?” he offered once he’d clipped on the lungeline.

Laslow glanced up—very, _very_ high up—first at where Hati’s withers hovered just an inch or two below the top of _Leo’s_ head, then slightly lower at the newly-shortened stirrups. “Might as well,” he said. He probably _could_ hike himself up there, but he didn’t much feel like making a fool of himself if he couldn’t.

Leo obliged and Laslow, once he’d settled in the saddle, found there was evidently quite a _large_ difference between the hand and a half or so in height Hati had on Scottie. He let out a breathy half-laugh, more amazed at the sheer breadth of the equine beneath him than anything, and moved to gather the reins.

“Ah…” he managed after a moment, gazing helplessly at the double set of reins before him. _Right._ “How on earth do you manage that, then?”

“Never ridden with a double bridle before?” Leo asked, pausing from where he’d been gathering the lungeline. He moved up to Hati’s shoulder, taking a low grip on one rein to demonstrate. “Snaffle rein like usual, under your ring finger. There are a few different ways to hold the curb, though I generally prefer to keep it one finger up from that and let them cross. Although… honestly, just ride him off the snaffle and keep a big loop in your curb. You’re not used to it and he’ll not be pleased if you start messing around with it.”

Laslow did as he was bid. “Seems like a bit of overkill,” he admitted.

“It does, in the beginning, but I’ve never had him ride better than he does in a double,” Leo said, moving from Hati’s side. Once he’d reached the center point of their newfound circle, he added, “There’s a lot of precision you can find with two bits.” He urged Hati on into a walk, continuing on with businesslike instruction. “The main thing to think about with him is to make absolutely certain he’s wrapped around your inside leg so you can push him up into an outside rein half-halt. Keep a little inside positioning rein if you have to to keep him there, because a solid half-halt _is_ the only thing that can possibly save you if he starts thinking you’d look better on the ground.”

A beat passed. “Sure,” Laslow said. “Should I just pretend that more than half of the words in that sentence made sense?”

Leo paused, shooting him a look that was nothing less than _aghast._ “Who taught you how to ride?”

“Ah… mainly the great sage twins known as ‘Trial’ and ‘Error,’” Laslow admitted. “But hey, so long as you stay on, right?”

Leo sighed, tucking the lungewhip under his arm so he had a hand free to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No. No. Not at all. Not on my horse. Okay. Let’s start over.”

With that, he launched into the beginnings of a ten-minute lecture which admittedly _did_ clarify most of what he’d said earlier, though Laslow was of the mind that it was all entirely too much to think about when one was trying to stay on horseback and keep oneself from getting flamed, shot, or skewered. Then again, he supposed, if one _started_ riding that way and had the feel of it become more than automatic long before one ever saw battle… and had he not just been admiring the evident ease of Leo’s riding a few minutes ago?

“Make more sense?” Leo finished.

“Mostly,” Laslow admitted.

Leo sighed slightly again, then said, “Inside leg to outside rein. If you remember anything, remember that.”

“It was nice knowing ya, Laslow!” Elise called from her newfound spot on the outside fenceline, having surreptitiously left the arena when he’d mounted.

Leo rolled his eyes. “How nice, Elise. I’m sure Laslow appreciates your faith in him.”

“Hey, I _am_ being nice!” she shot back. “I said it was _nice_ knowing him! _And_ I promise to say something else _nice_ at his funeral! Which is _more than I’ll do for you, Leo!”_ She finished that declaration with another pointed sticking out of her tongue.

Leo merely rolled his eyes again. “You see what I have to put up with every day?” he asked Laslow.

“Nope, can’t relate,” Laslow replied breezily. “I already told Lord Xander that I _am_ the annoying younger sibling.”

“My apologies to your sister, then,” Leo replied dryly.

“I’m sure she appreciates the sentiment,” Laslow returned. “Though speaking of funerals—or, well, rather the opposite of funerals, I suppose—when’s your bride-to-be supposed to get here? I haven’t seen her yet.”

Abruptly, the edge of dry mirth that had been in Leo’s manner vanished. “Tonight or tomorrow, I’d imagine,” he said, his tone flat. “It depends on how easily they got out of Diabola. The winter usually hits them harder than us this time of year.”

“Mm,” Laslow said, keeping his tone light in an attempt to conceal the prodding nature of his words. “Well, it’ll be nice to see Lady Gisela and His Grace again.” Then, innocently, “How’s Lady Corrin taking it?”

“...Corrin?” Leo asked, shooting Laslow a sharp and very guarded look.

“Well, yeah,” Laslow said. “It’s odd for her, I’m sure. Knowing you’re getting married. Especially to someone she’s never met.”

A beat passed. “It’s my duty. She understands,” Leo said, his words still toneless. Without warning, he continued, “Go ahead and trot him if you feel ready. He has a very large stride, so do be prepared to feel like you’re about to launch out of the saddle.”

Laslow bit back a sigh. And _that,_ he thought, was the brick wall he’d found himself running into headlong whenever the subject of Corrin came up in Leo’s presence. He’d thought Xander had been tight-lipped about their so-called sister’s lack of relation—with Leo, he could hardly so much as bring up her _name_ before the prince unceremoniously shut the conversation down.

He was suddenly glad he’d made his aforementioned _afternoon plans._

Still, that was later. Now, he had more pressing issues to worry about.

Namely, the fact that he found himself _catapulted_ skyward the moment he queried Hati for trot.

Laslow stayed on—barely—and it took an embarrassingly long moment to realize the stallion hadn’t been pulling any of his usual shenanigans. His trot really just was _that big._ “Seven hells,” he said, managing after a few strides to find some semblance of rhythm in the gait. “You ride this in _battle?”_

“Years on a lungeline, Laslow,” Leo replied, with no small amount of smugness in his words. Faintly, Elise giggled.

Leo did see fit to return to coaching at that point, though, and after a few minutes of adjustment Laslow found himself at least somewhat comfortable aboard the surprisingly cooperative destrier. He had no desire to take Hati on any sort of more strenuous ride—he was even reluctantly glad that Leo _had_ kept them on a lungeline—but being afforded the opportunity at all left him swelled with pride.

At least, until the moment Leo told him, “If you want to go ahead and canter—” and hadn’t even been able to finish the sentence before Laslow found himself solidly and unceremoniously ejected.

It took Laslow about a solid ten seconds on the ground—hip throbbing from the impact, sand in his hair—to figure out what had even happened.

“What, he speaks the language?” he asked wryly, pulling himself to sit upright and wincing at the motion. “Except he thinks ‘canter’ means ‘ditch the passenger’?”

Hati himself had pulled to a stop halfway across the circle, standing on the other side of Leo with tail flagged and his head innocently cocked.

Leo sighed, glancing between horse and fallen rider. “What did I say about inside leg to outside rein?” he asked, then added, “Are you all right?”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Laslow said, gingerly standing. “Gonna bruise to hell and back, I’m sure,” he added, “but hey, _someone’s_ got an ornery reputation to maintain, eh?”

Hati snorted, twitching his tail and glancing away as if Laslow’s attentions were beneath him.

Leo sighed again, then shook his head. “And now you see why no one else rides him,” he said, gathering in the lungeline and beginning to readjust the tack to its usual settings. “Don’t think you’ve gotten away with that, because _I’m_ about to get back on you,” he warned Hati.

“Uh oh,” Laslow said. “Now look, Hati, you’ve made Dad angry.”

Leo shot him a slightly askew look at the phrasing while Hati only snorted again, though the prince didn’t speak until he’d settled everything and vaulted once more on the stallion’s back. “Although,” he said, a touch of humor once more in his tone, “I will admit I felt a lot better about my life the day he ditched Xander.”

~~~

“My,” Camilla said mildly as she opened her door. _Afternoon plans, here we go,_ Laslow thought. “And just what is this for?”

“I was always taught a man could never go amiss bringing flowers to a lady’s doorstep,” Laslow said, flashing his most charming grin. “Unfortunately, flowers of any sort seem to be in rather short supply this time of year, even in our own Windmire. I was hoping this might prove an acceptable substitute.”

“My,” Camilla repeated as she extended a hand toward the bouquet of holly and evergreen he offered. “I suppose it will have to, won’t it? Do come in, Laslow.”

“Why thank you, Lady Camilla,” Laslow said, offering a bow as he stepped inside. “Goodness, tea and everything? I hadn’t intended to be such an imposition on your time, milady.”

“Nonsense, Laslow,” she said firmly, sweeping aside with grace as she procured a vase for his offering. Camilla’s quarters were a perfect mirror to Xander’s and Leo’s in size and shape, though her curtained bed was somehow larger than either’s. In place of Xander’s massive desk or Leo’s bookshelves, a small table had been set. “I’ve heard _teatime_ is a favorite pastime of yours, after all.”

“Ah, well, there are few pleasures in life greater than a good cup of tea, is there?” Laslow asked, standing slightly awkwardly as his servant’s training left him loath to sit while Camilla was still on her feet. “And I could think of few fairer companions in all of Nohr with which to take it with.”

Camilla turned back, fixing him with her ever-calculating stare that he hadn’t had much cause to have directed at him before that point. “Hmhmhm,” she said after a long moment. “You don’t fool me, Laslow. If what my brother says is true, you say the same to every girl you meet.”

“That makes me sound like such a scoundrel!” Laslow protested lightly. “I wouldn’t be so insincere as to say it to a woman who wasn’t worthy. It’s just that, to me, every woman meets that criteria.”

“How gentlemanly,” Camilla said with an icy sort of smile. “And how convenient. Do sit, Laslow. On one condition, that is.”

“What would that be, milady?”

“Promise me you won’t flirt with or woo any other woman, ever again. Do that, and the tea is my treat.”

Laslow paused, eyes going wide at the suggestion. He’d known Camilla was a force to be reckoned with, but he hadn’t quite expected… “Wh-what you ask of me… it’s impossible. There’s simply no way.”

Camilla held his gaze for a long moment before her smirk lifted slightly. “I jest, Laslow. I believe I could no more ask you that than I could require Xander to never again be somber. And it seems, I assume, you have other motivations here than wooing me. Unless I’m mistaken on that count, then sit.”

Laslow offered her a tight smile of his own, wincing a little as the hip he’d landed on protested his crossing the room.

Camilla’s keen eyes evidently noticed his limp, for she shortly asked, “And what’s happened to you, then?”

“Ah… my own fault, really,” Laslow admitted as he took his seat. “Took your brother’s horse for a spin.”

“I’m assuming by the state of you you’re referring to my _younger_ brother rather than my elder,” Camilla said, smoothing her skirts to settle across from him.

“Got it in one, milady,” Laslow said ruefully. “Although, if I might ask you a favor… when Lord Xander asks, would you be so kind as to tell him I did something especially valiant in defense of Lord Leo and Lady Elise? That would likely go over much better.”

Camilla let out a throaty laugh without actually answering, then gestured for Laslow to pour the tea.

He did so, serving her first, the pouring liquid the only sound for a long moment. “I still haven’t quite figured you out, Lady Camilla,” he said. “You have layers.”

“I don’t think I’m so complicated, am I?” Camilla asked lightly.

“You’re warm and kind… but at the drop of a hat, you can also turn steely and harsh. Yet you seem to wear both attitudes quite comfortably.”

“Could not the same be said for everyone?” Camilla asked.

“Perhaps,” Laslow admitted. “But it seems especially true in your case.”

“I’m not the enigma you believe me to be,” Camilla said. “I’m kind to my allies and cruel to my enemies in equal measure.”

“You do take a certain relish in showing your enemies no mercy, I’ve noticed.” Laslow sipped his tea. “I admit I’m rather relieved that I don’t count myself among them.”

“Why should I show mercy to my enemies? They are obstacles to be eliminated.”

“Is it always so black and white? I wonder. What if your enemy was someone you knew well? Surely you’d hesitate then.”

Camilla gave him a chilly smile over the top of her cup. “What a soft heart you have, Laslow.”

“Why, thank you, Lady Camilla,” Laslow returned. “I could say the same for you.”

“...It wasn’t precisely a compliment,” she replied. “But so long as you never betray me or my family, you will always have my favor.”

Laslow let half his mouth tip up in a wry smile. “So long as you give me withering looks like that, I’d never dream of it.”

Camilla chuckled. “Pardon me.”

Laslow’s manner turned serious once more. “Please know that I would never betray you regardless, Lady Camilla,” he said. _Best to plant that idea in her head at this point in the conversation…_ “You may place your utmost trust in me.”

“...Hmhmhm,” Camilla said again, tapping one perfectly manicured fingernail against the table. “You must have traveled a very long way to get here, Laslow.”

“Just from my quarters, milady,” Laslow said lightly, deliberately misinterpreting her with wry humor. “Not very far at all.”

She stared him down, not buying it for an instant, still incessantly tapping her nail. “And yet you fight alongside us, on our behalf.”

Laslow tilted his head. “Is that so wrong, milady?”

“Not wrong,” Camilla said. _Tap tap, tap tap._ “Merely… odd. Why remain here, among us? Surely your own kingdom has its problems as well.”

With odd longing, Laslow thought of nobles who snubbed him, of citizens who quietly muttered _bastard prince_ behind his back, of a country longing desperately for an heir when they had spent so long without.

And he thought of a power-hungry king, a stubborn crown prince, a lost princess who could never leave her tower, and just how _far_ this world had left to fall even without Anankos’s desperate attempts to send it into a fatal tailspin.

“Because I believe that what I am doing here is the right thing,” he finally murmured.

“But you have no ties to this land,” Camilla pressed. _Tap tap, tap tap._ “No special reason to be here.”

“That’s a dreadful thing to say,” Laslow chided. “I may not have been born and raised here, but I have made friends. Allies. Compatriots. Is it so very strange that I would stake my life fighting for them?”

Camilla didn’t answer for a long moment, still clicking away. Then, her voice low, “Tell me what you really came to speak to me about, Laslow, because mutual psychoanalyzation doesn’t seem quite your style.”

“Why, Lady Camilla,” Laslow said. “Is it so odd that I wanted to have a discussion with you? I’ve had such lovely conversations with all your other siblings by now; I didn’t wish for you to feel neglected.”

She was kept from answering by a smart rap at the door, bringing her own tapping to a swift halt. “Enter,” Camilla called.

The door swung open, leaving Laslow resisting the urge to wither under the fiery gaze directed at him—even worse, perhaps, than Camilla’s chilly looks.

“Afternoon, milady,” Selena said, her tone remarkably light before she turned narrowed eyes on Laslow. “What are you doing here?”

Laslow lifted his cup and sent her a cheery grin. “Having tea.”

Selena’s eyes went narrower. “Lord Xander needs you,” she said flatly. “You’d best be going.”

“Ah, he—he does?” Laslow asked, resisting the urge to fidget with his cup. He’d been rather under the impression Xander would be busy for the rest of the day.

“Yup. He does. So scoot,” Selena said, flapping a hand at him.

Laslow shot her his own pointed look, then turned his charm back on Camilla. “My apologies, milady; it seems duty calls.”

“It seems it does, yes,” Camilla said, sending him a demure yet calculating glance over the top of her own cup. “I won’t keep you from my brother, then.”

Laslow nodded, bowed in farewell, then made for the door.

He’d made it about halfway down the hallway before Camilla’s door clicked open and shut once more, followed by a determined stride that pounded a little too loudly against the stone.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Selena demanded under her breath when she caught up.

“...You said Lord Xander needed me?”

“No, he doesn’t, and that’s _not_ what I’m talking about,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Why the _hell_ were you having _tea_ with _Lady Camilla?”_

Laslow rolled his eyes and mirrored the cross of her arms. “You—seriously, you told me that just to get me out of there? I was _finally_ starting to get somewhere with her—”

“Get _where,_ exactly?”

Laslow huffed, sending a wary glance down the hall for eavesdroppers before muttering, “I was _trying_ to ask her a few things about Lady Corrin, you know, what we’re _here_ for, and I _might_ have actually gotten somewhere if you hadn’t come in and blown it!”

Selena seemed to inflate, puffing up in familiar angry-cat fashion. “You—oh, dear _gods,_ are you _trying_ to get yourself killed? What, exactly, do you think she’s gonna do if you start poking your nose into the family secrets? We’ve only been here six months and they’re only just starting to trust us!”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been able to get Lord Xander or Lord Leo to talk to me any more on the subject—”

“Then _leave it alone!”_ She flung her arms out. “Look, I _know_ you want to stick your nose in it, I _know_ you’ve got it in your head that you can just _fix everything_ if you try hard enough, but this isn’t home! This is Nohr! We’re servants, we’re nobodies, and we’re supposed to be _seen and not heard._ Which, I mean, yeah, is pretty bullcrap anyway, but drawing attention to yourself _puts a target on your back. Especially_ around Lady Camilla. _Trust_ me.”

“Selena, I’m not _scared_ of her. I spend my days poking at Lord Xander, it’s not like she’s worse than that—”

“Yeah, there’s just one difference,” Selena said. “If Lord Xander ever thinks you’ve crossed him, he’ll kill you quickly. Lady Camilla will kill you _slowly.”_

Laslow shot her another dark look, weighing his next retort when she spoke again.

“She was engaged once, too, you know,” Selena said conversationally. “When she was Lord Leo’s age. Old creep of a guy, she told me.” A beat passed. “He died. Murdered. No suspects. _She is not like the princes._ You’ve got to leave it be.”

Resisting the urge to shudder, Laslow finally sighed and said, “Selena, I can’t sit back and do _nothing.”_

Selena blew out a huff of her own. “I know you can’t,” she said. “And we’re not doing nothing. Being here is…” She paused. “Biding our time. Building the foundation. I know you’re used to being the white knight, Laslow—jumping in with the foreknowledge and the charm and the _grit_ and saving the day. But that’s not who we are here. We’re playing a long, long game this time. And we’re not knights here. We’re _pawns,_ and we have to play _very, very carefully_ if we don’t want to get sacrificed in the opening gambits.”

“Black pawns,” Laslow said dryly.

“Maybe so, yeah.”

“I didn’t think you were one for chess metaphors, Selena.”

“Hey, if it works it works.” She pointed at him, sticking her finger close enough that he would have to go cross-eyed to focus on it properly. “Keep it together, Laslow. I’m _not_ gonna be the one to tell everyone back home that you got yourself killed out here, all right?”

“Yeah,” said Laslow, then sighed again. “Yeah.”

~~~

Leo had _had_ every intention of taking the evening meal with his siblings—but he had never been the best of keeping track of time when he had a hundred and one demands on it, and Niles hadn’t noticed he was in need of a pointed reminder until dinner was only ten minutes out, which meant that Leo was currently taking Krakenburg’s many stairways at a rather un-princelike pace.

And how he ended up very nearly running into one person he hadn’t very much wanted to see.

He’d clipped her shoulder as he’d passed, striding too quickly to have paid attention to the face in his peripherals until the impact had sent him automatically reeling for Brynhildr. It took him half a second to steady himself and stay his hand, another half a second more to turn back with apologies on his lips, and five more to force a sound from his suddenly dry throat.

“Lady Gisela,” Leo finally managed.

For a long moment, Gisela didn’t seem to be able to manage more than the same carefully masked expression he was sure he was sporting. “Lord Leo,” she returned, followed by a brief crinkle of her lip that revealed she’d bitten at the inside.

Another painful silence dragged out before they both spoke at once.

“I didn’t—”

“It’s only that—”

Leo broke off at the same moment Gisela did, burying a grimace as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I hadn’t realized you’d arrived yet,” he admitted.

“Oh,” she said. “We came in quietly, is all—Dame Kora only just managed the trip and we didn’t want to wear her out making a fuss.”

“She made it, then?” Leo asked, remembering that Gisela’s knight had been badly injured when they’d first learned of the troubles in Ellyon.

“Said she wouldn’t miss seeing it for the world,” Gisela said, a warm fondness in her tone that shattered as her breath hitched. “Although… the seeing’s a bit metaphorical, now.”

“Ah…” Leo said, having to forcibly still his hand to keep from rubbing his neck again. _Gods above, are we going to be like this for the rest of our—_ He cut that thought off as quickly as he could. “Ellyon?” he ventured.

“Yeah,” Gisela said, then inclined her head down the hallways. “Were you heading to dinner, by any chance? It’s only, Lady Elise invited me to eat with you, but I’m not entirely sure where I’m going.”

“Oh,” said Leo. “I am, yes. It’s not much farther.” He thought to himself that he really _ought_ to offer her his arm and yet couldn’t quite bring his muscles to cooperate. “Well, suppose that gives me an excuse for being late.”

“Are we late?” Gisela asked with a hint of anxiety as she fell in step beside him.

“Only a little,” Leo said. “And you have a valid reason, getting lost. Only now I have a valid reason, too. Finding you. Sounds much better than losing track of time entirely.”

“Chivalrous.”

“As befitting a knight,” Leo said loftily.

“Not just yet you’re not,” Gisela pointed out.

“Near enough, though.”

She didn’t answer immediately, leaving Leo only to cringe and sigh to himself. “She’s doing better, though,” Gisela ventured. “Kora, I mean. They couldn’t save her left eye, but she’s getting light and shadow out of the right, at least, and they’re saying it might get better with time.” She’d blurted all of it out before she paused, tilted her head slightly, and said, “Sorry. This isn’t exactly scintillating pre-dinner conversation, is it?”

“...Perhaps not,” Leo admitted. “Though I admit I’m glad she made it.”

“Yeah,” said Gisela.

They fell silent once more. Leo got the distinct impression the wyvern in the room was staring them down, waiting to be acknowledged. “Lady Gisela,” he finally forced himself to venture.

“Is it wrong for me to be the one to mention the redundancy of our titles at this point?” she asked, a touch ruefully.

“...No,” Leo said. “No, I suppose you aren’t. Gisela, then. It’s… there’s something you should know.” He blew out a slight breath. “Listen, I can admit that I’m a little less than thrilled with… certain recent developments—”

“Oh, thank the _gods,”_ she said, shoulders slumping. “From your tone I had a terrifying moment where I thought you were about to admit you’d been in love with me since we were kids.”

The idea was so bizarrely foreign that Leo’s brain seized entirely, then produced nothing more eloquent than an incredulous bark of laughter. “No,” he said. “No, it’s… no, nothing like that. Very much the opposite.”

“Okay,” Gisela said, letting out her own relieved laugh. “Excellent. Good to know. Great to know, actually. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not in love with you, either. Or anyone else.”

“That’s, ah…” Leo trailed off and decided it best he didn’t volunteer his own half of that equation. “It is good to know, yes.”

“Okay,” Gisela repeated. “So at least we know we’re coming into this as friends.”

“As best as can be hoped for, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Probably.” She paused, then blurted, “This whole thing is complete _bull—”_ She cut herself off as they crossed a passing servant, then winced and shot Leo a glance. “Sorry. You know how soldiers are. It’s been a while since I’ve had to remember how ‘a lady minds her language’ and all that crap.” Her disgruntled expression told him just what she thought of _that._

Leo paused, then sent her a sideways glance. “Gisela,” he said seriously. “Have you _met_ Niles?”

“...Yeah, all right,” Gisela said with a grin. “This looks… still generally terrible, but possibly slightly less terrible. It could be worse.”

“My sentiments exactly, actually,” Leo admitted. “It’s just this way,” he added, stopping in front of a wide set of double doors. He’d been able to make out Elise’s high chatter halfway down the hall followed by low inputs from Xander and Camilla both. He braced himself, reached for the door, and pulled it open with a suitable bow.

Elise immediately let out a delighted cry, springing to her feet and scrambling over, less than graceful in heels that looked to be an old pair of Camilla’s. “Yay! You’re here! I’m so glad you came—I mean, you should totally come and eat with us anyway, because we’re gonna be sisters soon, but I’m glad you did! Here, come sit by me and Leo—”

“‘Leo and me,’” Leo corrected sardonically as he pulled the door shut behind him.

“She knew what I meant, Leo!” Elise shot back, already having linked one of her arms through Gisela’s.

“Admittedly I did,” Gisela said, squaring her shoulders and smoothing her free hand over her riot of ginger curls. “Good evening, Lord Xander; Lady Camilla.”

Leo’s oldest siblings had both risen to their feet when Elise had, though their greetings were far more subdued. “It’s good to see you grace our walls again, Lady Gisela,” Xander offered.

“Yes, darling, it’s _lovely_ to see you,” Camilla added. “Please do make yourself at home here—I’m sure we’ll be seeing much more of you soon. If there’s anything you need please don’t hesitate to ask. My retainers, Beruka and Selena, would be more than willing to help.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” Gisela said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Here, come on!” Elise said again, tugging on her new friend’s arm, then almost immediately tripping on her heels. “Whoa!”

Gisela steadied her with battle-honed reflexes, then dryly asked, “New shoes?”

“Yeah…” Elise admitted. “They’re hard.”

“Harder than they’re worth, in my opinion,” Gisela said, giving a conspiratorial smile and shifting the edge of her skirt slightly to reveal the elegant set of riding boots she wore underneath. “If you want my advice?”

“Yeah?” Elise asked.

Something in Gisela’s tone told Leo she wasn’t speaking entirely literally. “Never wear a pair of shoes you’re not ready to run in.”


	35. Point of No Return (Part 2) Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We fight, we fall, duty calls, it calls  
>  Say we choose, but it’s no choice at all, duty calls, it calls  
> Mercy, peace, and justice, cherish and protect us,  
> Battle born they send us, covered in our noble blood..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, long author’s note incoming this time. Out of character clean-up first:
> 
> This is the last chapter of Part 2, which I was aiming to have done by the end of this year. I may or may not start posting Part 3 until January, as I have several other short fics that have been hanging out on the back burner which could really use my full attention (at least three, if we count wrapping up “Everybody Wants To Be A Cat,” which is on that list—so two and a half, more accurately). Keep an eye out for those.
> 
> Now, on the in-character setup that needs explaining. I have done a very AU-thing in this universe (get used to it, haha). I’ve changed parentage. Because of the Fates-silliness in the Hoshido family tree, I have officially made Takumi and Sakura Mikoto’s children rather than Ikona’s. They are _actually_ Corrin’s blood half-siblings in this universe—Ikona died shortly after birthing Hinoka, lending enough time for Sumeragi to have theoretically fathered Corrin and married Mikoto. (WE might know that Sumeragi isn’t Corrin’s father, but apparently the rest of Hoshido doesn’t, and the canon explanation opened too many cans of worms for me to come up with a logical solution I was happy with—and we know they did it purely to make the Hoshido sibs romanceable, lol, which isn’t an issue here.) On that note, since I hadn’t officially made this decision back at the beginning of the fic, if you go back to the Hidden Truths chapters you will find I’ve also retconned the canon relationship of Mikoto and Arete being sisters—they are now cousins (several degrees removed), as you may have noticed the new Takumi/Azura tag that’s come with this chapter.
> 
> So anyways, that’s the housekeeping: Takumi and Sakura are Mikoto’s children, Mikoto and Arete are less closely related, and there may be a gap in chapters but other fics to fill in the break. Onward to the wrap-up for the monstrous Part 2—and come Part 3, we will OFFICIALLY be starting Fates.

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—December 21, 635**

Leo stood in front of his mirror as he had six months ago, with the same sort of heavy anticipation washing over him in waves. Blazing sunset streaked through his windows, backlighting his reflection in gold and perhaps smoothing over the imperfections he’d agonized over on his birthday.

He wore not his elaborate dress clothes this time—now, he was dressed in heavy layers of wool and silk, designed to keep him warm through the long solstice night he was about to spend in Krakenburg’s depths. At least the harsh chill would render the temptation of slumber less than alluring.

Leo sucked in a breath, fastening with trembling fingers the last clasp of the fine black cloak he would wear only once.

“Milord?” Though not as grating as it had been six months ago, Odin’s voice still sounded oddly wrong—under any other circumstances it would have been Niles readying him, but tonight Niles had himself to prepare. “Is there anything else you require of me before the dark night of your soul?”

Leo steadied himself once more, then said, “Not much, Odin, you’ll have the night to yourself in a minute.” He turned around, letting his tone drop into wry self-deprecation. “Everything on right-side-out? Boots on the right feet?”

Odin tilted his head slightly, then asked, “Is there a reason they wouldn’t be?”

“It’s—well, I—” Leo broke off, wondering if Odin was oblivious enough to have genuinely not noticed Leo’s unfortunate inability to have all his clothes on the correct way. “It’s a yes or no question, Odin!”

“Hmm,” Odin said, bringing his hand to his chin in a gesture of deliberation that would have seemed mocking coming from anyone else. From him, though, Leo could only assume it was sincere. “It all does seem to be so, my dark liege, although I admit I cannot attest to the unseen state of your undergarments.”

Leo flushed red, mouth falling open slightly before he cried, “Do I look like I want you to attest to the state of my undergarments?”

Odin frowned. “I suppose not, Lord Leo,” he admitted. “That does seem a task better suited to Niles.”

Leo spluttered, just managing to get out an urgent “No it is _not!”_ He cleared his throat, then added, “And I only care about what’s visible anyway!”

With a solemn nod that still seemed oblivious, Odin said, “Then you have naught to worry about, milord! Focus your dark attentions on the night ahead!”

Leo forced himself to ease his shoulders back and down, let out a soft sigh, and unclench his fists. _Relax,_ he told himself. “Yes,” he finally managed, then took another peek out the window at the steadily sinking sun. “Then I’ll be off, Odin. Once you’ve everything ready in here for me in the morning, you’ll be free to go for the night.” By ‘ready,’ of course, Leo only meant clean enough for him to collapse into bed come morning—Nohr’s newest knights would be given first crack at the breakfast feast that would begin at dawn, then allowed to sleep away the rest of the day, not expected to put in another appearance at court until the following morning.

“Fare thee well tonight, milord!” Odin told him with a grin. “And may the world always remember this auspicious eve on which all of Nohr glories with you in your achievements!”

Leo shook his head at the exaggerated sentiment and went on his way.

He made the first fraction of his descent in relative peace, though the moment he cleared the last staircase of the west wing he found himself thrown into the bustling crowd. Krakenburg veritably boiled with nobles and soldiers, eager to glimpse the knights that would rise to their defense in the years to come.

The crowd parted from him easily, though—if not from personal recognition of their second prince, then from the glimpse of the gold-trimmed black cloak every knight-to-be was wearing. More cloaks began to stick out from the crowd the closer to the throne room he got, finally ending in the single-file line extending through the doors, flanked on each side by the midnight blue cloaks of vigil companions. The faintest strains of building music came from within, undercut by a slow, holding-pattern beat of drums.

Leo bypassed the line entirely—there were a handful of other noble sons and daughters in amongst the forty or so commoners, but he was the highest noble rank of the year. He would be the first to take his vigil in the evening and the last to be dubbed in the morning—just as any commander ought to be the first to take the field of battle and the last to leave it.

Gisela held the head of the line at present, her own rank as heir-apparent to Diabola second only to Leo’s own. She was flanked by her two companions—one a woman Leo didn’t personally recognize, though he held no doubt she had to be Dame Kora. She kept a white-knuckled, unsteady hand on an ebony cane, her other arm threaded covertly through Gisela’s. As Leo passed, he caught a glimpse of one wide, milky eye; the other was covered completely by a leather patch, undercut by three livid scars that crossed from her left temple to the right side of her chin: the horrible handiwork of Iago’s Faceless.

To Gisela’s other side was Camilla—a last-minute addition to the lineup when she’d learned Gisela hadn’t planned on taking the traditional second companion. _The last I can do for my future sister-in-law,_ Camilla had said at Gisela’s query. Leo’s sister offered him the barest hint of a smile now as he passed that he tentatively dared to return.

Niles and Xander moved from the wall then, though, striding in perfect synchronization to take Leo’s side, both with unornamented steel swords at their hips. Odd to see Niles without his bow, odder still to see Xander without Siegfried, Leo thought—but Siegfried was in Garon’s grasp at the moment, and would so remain until the next morning, as integral a part of the ceremony as the cloaks, the vigil, and the vow.

Every knight Nohr had ever had for six hundred and thirty-five years had been dubbed by Siegfried. It sent an odd little thrill through Leo to think of the rank he was about to join.

He gave the faintest sidelong glance first to Niles, then to Xander, then squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back for the wait.

It wasn’t much longer before the music swelled, stifling the whispers that had echoed through the throne room. It rose long enough to leave nerves thrumming with anticipation, climaxed with one final trumpet blast, then died away as the door behind the throne swung open.

Garon’s armor gleamed under the candlelight, the white fur lining of his cloak in sharp contrast to the muted blacks and blues of the line before him. Siegfried hung from his hip rather than Bolverk, as Leo had known it would, unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite put to words. Garon swept across the dais to stand in front of his throne—and there he stood, statuesque, his own figure as imposing as the oppressive silence that had settled in the wake of his entrance.

“Knights of Nohr,” the king finally said, lifting his eyes to regard all of them without acknowledging any singular person in the lineup. “For thus you will be after this night.”

Leo squared his shoulders a little more as Garon’s gaze dropped briefly to him, then moved quickly on.

“You are here,” Garon continued, “because you have been deemed worthy by your commanders, your soldiers, your nobility, and ultimately myself. Worthy of what will wait for you after this night. Worthy to carry your shield side-by-side with your comrades; worthy to always bear your arms for the ultimate glory of Nohr. A knight of Nohr embodies the epitome of honor, devotion, respect, and loyalty, until the moment of one’s last breath. It is a vow that few are worthy of. If anyone believes they are unfit for this duty, they must take their leave now.”

Beyond the hesitant shift of weight and the whisper of ceremonial cloaks, no one took umbrage with the words.

“As is well,” said Garon. He extended a hand, leaving Iago to come scurrying from the shadowed fringes with a scroll in hand. “Then we may begin.”

He unfurled the scroll.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Leo of Nohr.”

Leo stepped forward to kneel at his father’s throne in an entirely different fashion than he ever had before.

Garon gazed down on him for a long moment before he spoke. “Do you so vow to spend this solstice night in vigil, to dwell and pray upon the duties before you, to reflect upon yourself and the love of your kingdom? And do you also so vow that neither speech nor nourishment shall pass your lips from this moment until the conferring of your knighthood, upon pain of death or banishment?”

With practiced projection, Leo said, “I do so vow.”

“Then rise, Prince Leo of Nohr, and raise your cloak.”

Leo lifted the hood of his cloak over his head, the heavy fabric dulling the already subdued sounds around him ever-so-slightly, then rose to his feet to take his place at the far end of the room. Xander and Niles moved forward once again to take his flank.

“The Lady Gisela of Diabola.”

Leo paid enough attention from the repeated words of _“Do you so vow to spend this solstice night…”_ through Gisela’s own ringing _“I do so vow.”_ He tilted his head slightly as she, Kora, and Camilla came to take the place beside him, wondering what he might manage to catch a glimpse of her face through the veil of their cloaks.

He doubted he’d have been able to read it if he had.

Leo managed to actually hear _“Lord Konrad of Macarath”_ and a handful of the other noble titles before he completely tuned out; by the time they reached the last of the line, the titles announced were as simple as the name of each knight-to-be and the village they hailed from.

“I do so vow,” the last girl whispered, her high soprano trembling on the words.

“Then rise, Liesel of Wildemoor, and raise your cloak,” Garon said. She scampered into her place at the end of the line before he continued. “You have been addressed on this night by your rank and title, but when we meet tomorrow, you will all be equals—knights of Nohr one and all. Reflect on this as well to yourselves. Now take your vigil, knights of Nohr.”

The formation had been practiced enough to fall in with ease behind Leo, with Xander and Niles half a step behind and to each side of him and the other knights arranging themselves in the same line order as before. Leo strode through the throne room, eyes pointedly above the crowd outside, and began the long, winding walk through Krakenburg.

The southwest tower had been meticulously swept and scrubbed for the past week, as it was for this same purpose every year. Only then was it unlocked as it was now, barring but one other extenuating circumstance that came only, at most, twice a generation. The last, Leo knew unthinkingly, had been four and a half years ago.

He came to the wide, yawning maw of the door to the tower and strode into the room where Siegfried and Brynhildr had spent the lonely years of their centuries.

Leo wondered if he would have heard murmurs were it not for their collective vow of silence, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes stray to the simple wooden pedestal where Brynhildr had laid untouched for thirty-seven years before it had come to him—and where it would presumably rest again upon his death. Even if it meant Brynhildr returning once more to the shelf, Garon wouldn’t let it out of the direct Krakenburg line—there would be no chance it would pass to Leo’s children of the Diabolan line.

He gave the room one more cursory glance, eyes ducking over where Siegfried’s pedestal had laid empty for far longer than Brynhildr’s—Garon had wielded Siegfried since he was but a prince himself, then passed it on the Xander when the latter had been twelve—and continued on ahead. Some part of him wondered briefly if Brynhildr itself had thrummed at his hip through his layers.

The door at the far side of the room took them down a winding spiral staircase around the outside of the tower, each narrow window revealing that night had fallen outside. Each floor as they descended held three doors and three private rooms, with one knight and their companions branching off at each one. Leo had longer to walk than the rest—his room was the very last, to leave him at the end of the line in the morning in long-practiced formation.

It was only after Gisela, Kora, and Camilla had taken the room next door that Xander took a light grip on Leo’s arm, pulling the younger prince up short before he could take the handle of his own door. “I am,” the elder brother said under his breath, “so very proud of you, Leo.”

For a moment, Leo’s vow of silence was forgotten, his mouth falling open with a muted exclamation that he only just managed to cut off before it fell from his lips. _Upon pain of death or banishment_ probably wasn’t the most literal punishment for such a failure, but he didn’t intend on breaking his oath regardless.

Still, he stood frozen for a moment, eyes locked with Xander’s, queries dying in his throat. _Why now? Why would you tell me that now of all times?_ Was it obligation? Misplaced guilt for the _thousand_ other times he could have said as such over the course of Leo’s childhood—

“As am I, milord,” Niles said from the other side, effectively shattering Leo’s train of thought.

Leo nodded, the closest he could give to a silent thank you, then settled in for the long winter’s night.

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—December 21, 635**

Corrin sat curled in the window seat of the library, hands curled around a steaming mug filled with what was _technically_ coffee but was really more cream and sugar than anything.

She sighed, nestling deeper into the pillows, watching the stars out the window and occasionally imagining one shooting across the sky like it had on the most exciting night of her life. None did now, of course, but on the clear, frosty night it was easy to pretend.

She’d never told her siblings she’d held her own private vigils for their knightings—or had tried to, at least. Corrin had only been eleven when Xander had been knighted, and despite her best efforts she’d fallen asleep before two in the morning. She’d managed a successful all-nighter when Camilla had been knighted three years ago; tonight, she would stay up for Leo.

Privately, Corrin wondered if she would stay awake for Elise’s vigil before she ever managed to leave her fortress.

The library door creaked as it always did when it opened past a certain point, leaving Corrin to turn her head. “Hello?”

“Oh, milady!” came a startled voice. “I didn’t realize you were here!”

“Lilith?” Corrin ventured as her eyes adjusted to the backlit hallway. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing, milady,” Lilith said with a hurried bow. “I just saw the light on when I was heading to bed. I didn’t know you were awake.”

Corrin smiled, gesturing the newest maid over. “Leo has his vigil tonight,” she said. “I’m staying up with him since I can’t be there in person.”

“That’s lovely of you to do, milady,” Lilith offered.

“Well, I’d rather _be_ there…” Corrin admitted, glancing away. “But, well…” She shrugged.

“I understand,” said Lilith. “But that’s still very kind of you.”

“I guess it’s the least I can do,” Corrin said with another shrug. “I wish there was more.”

A beat passed. “Milady?” Lilith ventured. “Would you mind if I kept you company for a little while?”

Corrin grinned, shifting up the bench and patting the newly opened spot. “Sure! Please do!”

Lilith froze then, before quickly offering another bow. “I’m sorry, Lady Corrin, that was out of line. Good night, milady.”

“Wait!” Corrin called—but too late as the library door swung shut once more.

She chewed on her lip for a long moment, wondering if it was something she’d said.

~~~

**Windmire Underground, Nohr—December 21, 635**

It was a lucky thing indeed, Laslow supposed, that all three of their lieges were indisposed that night—Leo with his vigil, Xander and Camilla accompanying him and Gisela. Laslow, Odin, and Selena had the night entirely to themselves in a way that was painfully foreign and gloriously _wonderful._

“I’m just glad we’re not stuck in the castle tonight,” Laslow said as they wound through the underground streets of Windmire on the way to the familiarity of Nether’s Brink. “That vigil sounds _dreadfully_ boring. Glad Lord Leo didn’t invite me.”

“As if my liege, the Dark Lord himself, would invite _you_ over his own cherished second retainer,” Odin grumbled in reply.

“Hey, I’m starting to get the impression he rather likes me, actually,” Laslow pointed out. “The other day he let me ride his horse.”

A beat passed before Selena guffawed. “You got _on_ that thing?”

“Well… for a few minutes, at least,” Laslow admitted sheepishly.

Selena was unkind enough to laugh at him again.

Laslow shook his head, about to reprimand her when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He tilted his head slightly, scanning in his peripherals. For the briefest moment as they crossed an alleyway he caught a glimpse of shifting black in the shadows.

He shook his head slightly, keeping his eye trained on the spot for a moment before dismissing it.

“Ooh, hang on,” Selena said, craning her neck to peer in a storefront.

“Sele _na,”_ Odin groaned.

“Oh, I’ll only be a minute,” she said, flapping a hand in their direction.

“An hour, you mean,” Laslow sighed. “Come _on,_ Selena, we haven’t got all night.”

“We kind of do,” she pointed out, then rolled her eyes. “All right, _all right._ I’m going. _But_ I’m coming back for it when you two are no longer sober enough to stop me.”

“Since at that point I doubt we’ll be sober enough to care, either, I have no problem with this,” said Laslow.

Selena flipped him a rude gesture, then linked her arms with each of theirs and strode onward.

The shadows in the corner of Laslow’s eye moved again as they headed on.

Nether’s Brink greeted them with the familiar scent of sweat and spirits, though the three of them in various combinations had poked their head in enough times over the past six months that they no longer needed Niles’s word to enter. “Now remember,” Selena said as they made their way to a booth. “Don’t start any barfights, Laslow.”

“My _gods,”_ he groaned. “Are you _never_ going to let that go?”

“Uh,” said Odin. “What world do you live in that you thought we would?”

“Again I say,” Selena added, “Trysts with Grimleal dark mages.”

“It was _once,_ you can’t call it plural! And I was seventeen!” Laslow insisted. “And the barfight was also only once!”

“Which is undeniably one time too many,” Selena said airily, dropping into her seat and waving a hand at him. “It’s your turn to buy.”

“It’s Odin’s,” Laslow said.

“It’s yours,” Odin replied.

Laslow crossed his arms and huffed. “Selena, I’ve just made the _strange_ realization that somehow it’s never _your_ turn to buy.”

“I didn’t bring any money,” she said with an absent shrug.

Laslow rolled his eyes, shoving away from the table and digging for his own wallet. He made it five strides before he turned back. “Selena, how did you plan on going shopping if you didn’t bring money?”

Selena gave him an unrepentant grin.

Laslow shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd. The tavern was fuller than usual that night—plenty of people were in town for the knighting ceremony and later on the New Year’s Eve ball, though he wondered briefly to himself how Nether’s Brink’s exclusive little bubble had managed to attract so many as the other patrons jostled him.

“Huh,” Odin said, glancing slightly over Laslow’s shoulder once the former had returned. “That guy looks like he ought to be in with the knights.”

Laslow took his seat, distributing the drinks among them before casting a casual glance in the direction his cousin had. “What, the guy in the cloak?”

“Mmhmm,” Odin answered.

“Maybe he got lost,” Selena said.

Laslow shrugged. Though the stranger’s cloak was the same black as those knights holding vigil tonight and pulled up over his head, it was a heavier, coarser material. Besides, dusk had been hours ago. Some traveler, he thought, just in for the evening or the week.

The only thing that made him think otherwise was that the traveler looked to have come in the _back_ door, which Laslow himself had only discovered existed when he’d been unceremoniously ejected during their first visit.

He titled his head, regarding the figure for a moment more, wondering if they’d met gazes through the shadow of their cloak.

Laslow came to the quiet decision that he would _not_ be drinking past the point of caring about Selena’s shopping exploits.

~~~

His friends had given him odd looks when he’d drummed his hands on the table and declared himself ready to move on after only half an hour and one drink; Selena had quit complaining when he’d suggested doing a little more exploring of the underground city, but Odin had still been shooting him questioning glances until they’d split up.

Laslow had spent another solid half an hour thinking maybe the odd looks had been worth it. He’d spent his life looking over his shoulder, after all. A touch of paranoia once in a while wasn’t out of the question.

He’d nearly convinced himself when he caught a glimpse of their tail again.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, Laslow had to admit to himself that the man—assuming it was a man—was very, _very_ good. He doubted he’d have glimpsed the black cloak in the shadows half the times he did if it weren’t for his Anankos-boosted senses, his lifetime of watching his back or no.

 _All right then,_ Laslow thought, an odd little thrill of the hunt perking up in him despite his apprehension. _So we’re playing this game now._

He doubted his friends had gotten terribly far in the market, though it took him a moment to spot Selena’s hair in the crowd. Putting an exaggerated bounce in his step, he sidled up and snaked an arm around her shoulders. “Selena, dear, what’s caught your eye on this beautiful night, mm?”

“Oi,” she said instead of replying, turning from examining a market stall of tooled belts and other leatherworking. “Paws off, weirdo, unless you’re buying.”

“I do seem to remember your distinct lack of wallet tonight, my sweet,” Laslow said, inclining his head toward hers before dropping into a breathy whisper, too low for the bemused shopkeeper to hear. _“Someone’s following us.”_

A glint of understanding came to Selena’s eyes before she moved to shove him off again, a little harder than the affected gesture required. Laslow obliged, still grinning with practiced ease. “Another time,” she told the shopkeeper, tossing back the belt she’d been examining. “C’mon, dummy, let’s go.” She linked her arm with his once more, this time less out of genuine affection and more as a ruse to keep his ear within easy whispering distance. _“Details,”_ she hissed back as they left the booth.

“The guy from the tavern that Odin noticed,” Laslow murmured back. “He’s good. He’s _really_ good. And where’s Odin gotten to?”

Selena shook her head. “Not sure. You think he’s in trouble?”

Laslow shook his head. “I think this guy’s alone,” he said. No sooner had he spoke did he catch another glimpse of movement from the eaves of one of the larger, permanent buildings; he forced himself not to turn his full gaze on it. “Don’t look now, and don’t make it obvious. Just watch my back.”

“If you get yourself bloody killed,” Selena groaned, then released his arm and stepped slightly away, mirroring him from a distance.

Laslow only grinned after her, making a show of inspecting a sign for a store selling healing potions—and likely several other types of less-than-legal concoctions—before abruptly changing directions and ducking down an empty alley.

Several rodents scattered at his entrance, jostling the precarious stack of wooden crates at the far end with a jarring crash of broken glass. Laslow stared after it for a moment, as if fascinated, then crossed his arms and said with a carrying drawl, “I don’t like being followed, you know.”

A painfully long half-minute passed during which he was afraid his tail had bolted or perhaps switched to Selena or Odin. Then, at long last, the answer came.

_“Perhaps you should take care to hide your trail a little better, retainer.”_

It took Laslow slightly too much of a pause to catch the implications—too caught up on puzzling out the last word.

 _Retainer_ had a slightly different connotation in Hoshidan than it did in Nohrian.

“Are you saying a man shouldn’t be able to walk around the literal underground black market without having to watch over his shoulder?” Laslow mused, fitting his tongue around the syllables of a language he hadn’t dared speak aloud in months. “For shame.”

No answer.

“I don’t really like talking to thin air, either,” Laslow continued, still in Hoshidan.

With a lightness that belied his size and the height he’d come from, the cloaked figure landed crouched at the end of the alleyway, rising to his full height with easy grace.

“If you’re going to attempt to kill or otherwise maim me, might you get on with it, oh silent one?” Laslow asked. “I’ve got other things to do tonight, you know.”

“You’re rather more fluent than the average Nohrian,” the stranger offered.

“You’re rather more cryptic than the average anyone,” Laslow retorted. “And can I make the assumption, since you answered me well enough earlier, that you’re as fluent in my tongue as I am in yours? My friends are less so, you see. It seems a bit unfair to leave them out.”

There was a shift in the air behind him—he didn’t have to glance back to know it was Selena, though he swiftly caught another glimpse of movement from his other side. Good. She’d found Odin.

The stranger held his hands out slightly. “I have no intent to harm you,” he offered, now in Nohrian.

“Then why are you following us?” Selena asked with venom.

A beat passed. “Curiosity.”

“A good night to be curious,” Laslow said, “with half the country in town and so many people tied up in the ceremony. Perfect time to investigate. You’re pretty good for a spy, I admit.”

“Then you assume I am here based on my country’s intentions of war,” said the stranger.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid that’s an assumption I rather obliged to make,” said Laslow. “You called me a retainer; you clearly know who we are. My face is charming, I admit, but not _that_ recognizable.”

“I don’t come with the intention of bringing war. I would wish for anything but, as a matter of fact; I admit, though, that I am perhaps in the minority.” He lowered the hood of his cloak, revealing green hair and narrowed eyes. “I am called Suzukaze—though more frequently Kaze. I am a ninja in the service of the Hoshidan royal family. I come in search of information only… in hopes of arranging the peaceful return of our own Princess Kamui.”

Laslow’s entire footing seemed to drop out from beneath him.

“I’m not sure that’s a solution that _can_ be peaceably arranged, my friend,” Odin said grimly.

Kaze gave a solemn nod. “I can see how the situation seems as such,” he murmured. “But Queen Mikoto has never wanted war. She has offered generously to King Garon, time and time again. He refuses. But after these years…” He shook his head. “High Prince Ryouma and Princess Hinoka have grown impatient. Even those nobles who believe Lady Kamui dead rather than kidnapped dislike how King Garon has handled recent matters in Cheve, and think it is perhaps our duty to intervene. I believe…” He trailed off. “I _hope_ that perhaps her return could assuage such matters and prevent a war. So I am here in humble search for anything that might accomplish peace.”

Laslow’s very heart seemed to pound out a surge of _yes, yes, yes, this guy gets it, finally!_ It took a long moment for his brain to forcibly quash the notion. “Unfortunately, I think Odin’s right. King Garon _won’t_ give her up without a fight. Neither would her siblings. And she…” He paused at Kaze’s look.

“Her siblings,” said the ninja, “are in Hoshido.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Laslow told him. “As far as she knows her blood ties are to the _Nohrian_ royal family.”

Kaze’s eyes went wide. “Then even if we could negotiate with your king…”

“There’s no guarantee she’d even want to go,” said Selena. “She’s spent her whole life locked up and lied to for _exactly_ that reason.”

“He _wants_ a war,” Laslow continued. “He’s itching for one. He’ll take any excuse he can get at this point. I don’t think even we…”

He broke off again.

“Who asked you to come here, Kaze?” he asked. “Whose orders? The queen’s, the high prince’s…?”

Kaze shook his head. “Not as such,” he admitted.

Laslow nodded. Hadn’t he just said to Lilith, barely weeks ago, that they’d need allies in Hoshido? “We’re… ultimately sort of independent, too,” he said. “And our goals might be more similar than they seem at first glance. If we were to, say, exchange some information—just a few things, really, that could help push back any sort of war—”

“Laslow,” Selena said in a low tone.

Kaze shot her a glance, then nodded to himself. “You’re taking quite the risk that I am who I say I am,” he pointed out. “What if I’m not?”

“Well,” Laslow pointed out, “there’s three of us and one of you.”

“That is a fair point.”

A beat passed before Odin ventured, “If we told you that peace between Nohr and Hoshido might be the single most important factor in the fate of this world, would you believe us?”

Kaze regarded him. “I believe I might,” he said. “I have studied the past three wars between them… and the devastation they caused. If you are truly on the side of peace…”

“Kaze,” Laslow said seriously. “There are a lot of things we can’t tell you. But if you really want what you say you do, you’ve found the right Nohrian retainers.”

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—December 22, 635**

It was a stiff, cold, and red-eyed Leo that emerged into the predawn darkness of Krakenburg’s courtyard—but the worst was over.

Or perhaps the _next_ to worse, he thought with wry remembrance of the morning’s schedule.

Nohr had learned, over so many years, exactly how long the traditional words lasted, exactly how long each knight would take to speak their oaths, and exactly when to retrieve them from the vigil. They made their long trek once more through Krakenburg—this time with Leo at the rear rather than the front, this time to the courtyard rather than the throne room.

The last stars of the morning glinted overhead and were quickly swallowed by the bright torches’ light.

This time, it was Garon awaiting them rather than the other way around.

“Knights of Nohr,” he said, “here you stand again. Dawn comes, and with it you shall stand as the pinnacle of our army and our society. From this moment on, you are part of our greater whole. May you always remember the reflections of this night and the auspiciousness of this day. You are no longer the sons and daughters you once were. You are knights. _You are Nohrians._ May your pride and your loyalty to your country and your king never waver, even to the point of death.”

He did not call them by name this time—the line moved of its own accord, practiced and ready. The crowd jostled eagerly, packing the courtyard and far larger than those who had been able to fill the hall to the throne room the previous night.

The first knight took her vow, her words still slightly trembling but clearer than her last, and finally Garon raised Siegfried.

“Then rise, Dame Liesel of Nohr, and lower your cloak.”

She did so, bowed to her king, and moved to take her place to the side of his pedestal.

 _“DAME LIESEL OF NOHR!”_ came a shout from the crowd.

Leo watched as the very first glint of dawn began to glimmer on the horizon.

On the red, rising sun came, the color perhaps an ill omen as the line came on, as oaths were taken and the flat of Siegfried passed from shoulder to shoulder. “Then rise, Sir Konrad of Nohr, and lower your cloak.”

_“SIR KONRAD OF NOHR!”_

It had come so quickly Leo almost hadn’t realized—and all too soon, only a moment later, Gisela was stepping out in front of him to take her knee. He could make out every murmured word of her oath, the unfailing lack of hesitation despite the weight of their sleepless night.

Silently, Siegfried pressed to her shoulders. “Then rise, Dame Gisela of Nohr, and lower your cloak.”

_“DAME GISELA OF NOHR!”_

She moved to the king’s left and the line of women who had taken that side. And, at long last and too quickly, the moment came.

Leo knelt.

“Break your silence and answer with truth,” Garon told him. “Do you so vow as a knight of Nohr to act as always with loyalty to your king and your people? Do you so vow to act as always with justice, courage, and honor towards your king and your people? Do you so vow to act as always not for your own sake, but for that of your king and your people? And do you so vow that nothing less than death will break this oath you take as a knight of Nohr?”

“I do so vow as a knight of Nohr to act as always with loyalty to my king and my people,” Leo answered. “I do so vow to act as always with justice, courage, and honor towards my king and my people. I do so vow to act as always not for my own sake, but for that of my king and my people. And I do so vow that nothing less than death will break this oath I take as a knight of Nohr.”

The flat of Siegfried’s blade landed lightly first on his right shoulder, then his left. “Then rise, Sir Leo of Nohr, and lower your cloak.”

Leo rose, his head high and chest out, striding to flank the new Sir Konrad in the line to the king’s right.

No sooner did he step into place did blazing dawn clear the horizon, illuminating the crowd with the sun’s red-yellow wash as the last call of the year went out.

_“SIR LEO OF NOHR!”_

He fought back the sudden grin that threatened his features, seeking out familiar faces now that they were visible enough to do so. Xander, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, was easy enough to spot, as was Camilla beside him and Elise on her tiptoes. Niles was just down the line from them, beside Silas and not far from the unlikely trio of Effie, Arthur, and Beruka. The far more typical group of Laslow, Odin, and Selena were further back in the crowd.

The only face Leo would have wished for and couldn’t see, he realized with a slight deflation in his chest, was Corrin’s.

“To the knights of Nohr!” Garon called, raising Siegfried. “May we honor their sacrifice!”

_“TO THE KNIGHTS OF NOHR!”_

When the cheers finally died, Garon sheathed Siegfried, then held his hands out. “And on this happy occasion,” he said, “the crown brings forth one more piece of joyous news.” He inclined his head slightly, dropping his voice too low for the crowd with a stern, “My son.”

Leo’s last bit of elation faded, his steps heavy as he moved to take the place beside his father. From the other side, without needing to be told, Gisela mirrored him.

“On this day,” Garon continued, “the twenty-second of December, six hundred and thirty-five, I make joint announcement with Duke Wilhelm of Diabola on the upcoming marriage of his daughter, the Lady Gisela, to my own younger son, Prince Leo. May their union be fruitful, and serve as a reminder to us all of our hope for our glorious future.”

Leo tuned out the cheer of the crowd that time with a hard swallow as Garon stepped back to give them center stage, not without a firm nudge on both their shoulders to urge them closer together. Gisela gave Leo a look of sidelong resignation as she slipped her arm in his.

Leo, meanwhile, only let his eyes fall shut for a moment, dropping his voice until he was sure it was below Garon’s hearing. Whether Gisela understood, he couldn’t say.

“For the glory,” he told himself, his throat thick, “of Nohr.”

~~~

**Castle Shirasagi, Shirasagi, Hoshido—December 22, 635**

The fire flickered on that quiet night, bright and blinding and _warm_ in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Sakura yelped as she tried to extricate a too-hot piece of mochi from the bonfire, shaking out her reddened fingers. Takumi beside her gave her a sideways glance and said dryly, “Don’t burn yourself.”

“Takumi,” Hinoka chided.

“What? I just told her not to burn herself,” Takumi said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“B-but I already did,” Sakura pointed out.

“Well, don’t do it again, then!”

“You’re all right, Sakura?” Ryouma asked, having to crane his neck to see his youngest sister properly around the fire.

Sakura nodded heartily. “It’s fine.”

Queen Mikoto closed her eyes, and listened, and thought of her family.

It was easy enough to see them as the whole they were—gathered around the fire, laughing and teasing and aglow in the evening light. But on closer look, it was just as easy to see them as fragmented pieces, so obvious the lines they fell upon. Takumi and Sakura sat close, across from the equally close Ryouma and Hinoka—the eldest and the youngest almost set against each other. What divided them, Mikoto had never quite been able to tell—was it a thousand little things, each too small to be noticed until they added up, or was it one large and obvious gap that was so plainly in front of her she failed to see it?

And Azura, dear Azura, who fit in with both and neither. She floated from one side to the other with ease and yet did not belong to either. She sat across from Mikoto now, a gap on each side of her large enough to have fit two others.

In that gap, in that ache that pounded in time with each of their hearts, was that hole that should have been Kamui.

Fourteen long years had done little to ease that agony.

There was not a day that passed that Mikoto did not think of her—her eldest child, the product of that heady flush of her first love. How could there be? She loved Takumi and Sakura no less—nor did she Hinoka and Ryouma, though they were not her own flesh; nor Azura, the daughter of a cousin that had been more like a sister. But Kamui, her dear Kamui… how could a day pass without the thought of her?

It was worse than death, perhaps. She could have, in fourteen years, learned to grieve her child. Yet Kamui _lived,_ lost somewhere her mother could not reach her, some pawn of King Garon’s until the time came to use her for his sick purpose.

Mikoto opened her eyes, hoping they would not cloud with tears, and found the firelight reflecting that excruciating image of her lost child.

It took her a long moment to realize what was wrong.

The image before her was not the gap-toothed, wide-eyed child she had mourned for so many years. Kamui’s wavy white hair was pulled into a tail that hung nearly to her waist, the image of crimson eyes regarding Mikoto with the sure knowledge of maturity. Her face had aged finely, beautifully; her willowy frame was undercut with a sturdy strength. A blade hung from her hip that looked neither Nohrian nor Hoshidan.

Were it not for the pale blue kimono she wore, Mikoto would have thought it a glimpse of her daughter that very day.

 _No,_ she realized as the vision pulled her in more fully. The Dawn Dragon’s benevolent gaze shown with stone wisdom behind Kamui’s head. It was the capital square of Hoshido, shining with the bright and unmistakable light of high summer. The vision of Kamui regarded Mikoto with both trepidation and bright curiosity, familiar and unfamiliar both.

Smoke rose, and the odd blade on Kamui’s hip went abruptly flying out of view, drawn by some invisible force, and the vision-world _exploded._

Mikoto gasped, her ears ringing from the silent cacophony and her vision blurring white as she dug her hands into the ground.

“Mikoto?” Azura was the first to speak, half-rising from her seated position, but her concern quickly drew in echoing overlaps of “Mother?” and “Are you all right?”

The queen forced herself to nod, still heaving for breath as she forced herself to ease her fingers from the garden’s dirt. A small stone had embedded itself under one of her nails, the prickle of pain grounding her back in reality with horrible, sickening certainty.

Her death.

She’d foreseen her _death._

“I’m fine,” she managed as Ryouma crouched in front of her and Sakura stood poised, plainly ready to retrieve her stave from the castle at a moment’s notice. “The smoke… went to my head for a moment.”

“Are you sure?” Ryouma asked, leaning in to examine her eyes.

Mikoto nodded. “It’s all right. You can sit, Sakura. Don’t worry.”

Sakura did, though she worried her lip as she did and, a moment later, darted a hand out to fist in Takumi’s sleeve.

 _That was my death,_ Mikoto thought again, the idea almost too much to wrap her head around.

It had been summer, she’d recognized. This summer? Half a year away, perhaps a few weeks more? How long did she have?

How in the name of the Dawn Dragon could she prepare the fragmented family before her for it?

She closed her eyes again, blood pounding behind her temples as she realized the rest.

Even if she were to die—and soon—the vision had given one awe-worthy, monumental joy.

She would see her daughter again.

**End of Part 2**


	36. Dead of Night (Part 3) Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Soleil has a tea party, Azura gets a present, Kaze visits Windmire, and Leo falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Lol at me waiting for the new year, I suppose. I got _Rain On Me_ and the first chapter of _Best Part_ out at least. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate.~~

_Light the night up, you’re my dark star, and now you’re falling away, but I found in you what was lost in me, in a world so cold and empty, I could lie awake just to watch you breathe, in the dead of night you went dark on me…_

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—May 26, 636**

“You look,” Selena said, blatantly struggling to keep a straight face, “Absolutely _fabulous,_ Laslow.”

Laslow blinked, felt himself flush red, then hurriedly removed the length of pink tulle that was artfully draped around his head.

“Well _now_ you don’t look fabulous, Daddy,” Soleil protested, crossing her arms and pouting.

“Ah… sorry,” Laslow said, then dutifully wrapped himself up again. _“Not a word,”_ he muttered to Selena.

“There’s nothing I need to say,” Selena replied, her words bubbling with laughter. “I’m just thinking of commissioning a portrait, actually.”

Laslow glared.

“Not that I won’t remember this moment in _crystal clarity_ for the rest of my days,” she continued. “Ah, I wish Odin was here.”

“Thank the _gods_ he isn’t,” Laslow grumbled. His words were only half-serious—he hadn’t seen Odin in two months and letters only went so far.

Leo had been sent to Diabola at the beginning of March—perhaps ‘shipped off’ was the most appropriate term. There had been no date set for his and Gisela’s wedding yet, though Laslow had heard scattered rumors of potentials. But Diabola held the possibility to be a political landmine of its own, holding so much of Nohr’s military might, even if their personal breed of Faceless had apparently died an ignoble and unexplained death over Nohr’s long winter—none had been spotted since their fateful trip to Ellyon. Gisela hadn’t been in Diabola since she was fourteen and knew next to nothing of any sort of politics; Leo knew politics in general, but hadn’t the intimate knowledge of Diabola that he would eventually need. Garon had decided the best way to learn was full immersion.

Leo, to Laslow’s chagrin, had had the _audacity_ to take Odin with him.

He had a feeling Soleil had been thinking along similar lines, if slightly less eloquent. “When’s Ophelia coming back?” she asked. “We need to have a tea party with her.”

“Ah, afraid I don’t know, kiddo,” Laslow said, settling back on the floor between Lord and Lady Whiskers and the cats’ imaginary tea. He was not _entirely_ sure of the purpose of having a tea party with imaginary tea, but Soleil had not-so-patiently informed him that it was Very Important. “But you’ll be the first to find out when she moves back in, huh?”

“I guess,” Soleil said, scooting back into her own seat and giving Lady Whiskers a rough pat on her much-loved head. “But it’s still stupid that she’s gone.”

“She misses you too, you know,” Laslow told her. “Her dad told me last time he wrote me.”

“Well then she should hurry up and come _back,”_ Soleil insisted.

Laslow sighed. “I know, love. They should, shouldn’t they?” He glanced back at Selena, found her mostly obscured by pink fabric, then batted his newest fashion accessory out of the way. “What say you, Selena? Care to join us for tea?”

“I haven’t got time, unfortunately,” Selena said with false rue. “Just wanted to let you know a mutual friend of ours will be in town tonight. Thought you might want to catch him if you have time.”

Laslow perked at the mention. _A mutual friend_ could only mean _Kaze._ It sometimes took the ninja as long as six weeks to make the run from Windmire to Shirasagi and back, since he had to lay low as soon as he crossed into Nohrian territory. Laslow, Odin, and Selena couldn’t exactly get away long enough to meet him anywhere further east, either. “Yeah, I should be good when I get off,” he said casually. “I’ll catch you tonight.”

“Can I come?” Soleil asked. “I want to meet your friend!”

“Ah,” Laslow said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not this time I’m afraid, love.”

“But,” Soleil began, doing a passable impression of the most pitiable creature on earth. “But _Daddy.”_

Laslow shot a glance at Selena. “Don’t look at me for help,” she told him.

He shook his head. “I’ll catch you tonight,” he told her again, then turned his attention back to the more demanding girl in the room.

~~~

**Castle Shirasagi, Shirasagi, Hoshido—May 26, 636**

Azura had just taken the last bite of her lunch when the door panel slid open to reveal Mikoto, leaving her greeting slightly belated from Sakura’s bright “Hello, Mother!” and Takumi’s gruff “Hey.”

“Good afternoon, Mikoto,” Azura offered once she’d hastily swallowed. The bite of fish stuck in her throat for a moment.

“Hello, Takumi; Sakura; Azura,” Mikoto offered, sinking into a spot at the low table with familiar grace. “How are you all today?”

“Pretty g-good,” Sakura offered, while Takumi answered with a shrug and a non-committal grunt. “And you, Mother?”

“I’m just fine, thank you,” Mikoto answered—yet, to Azura’s surprise, there was the faintest tremble in the queen’s hands as she moved to serve herself.

Azura tangled her hands in her lap for a moment, then moved to quietly rise as the silence dragged out. For all the fourteen years she’d spent in Hoshido, the moments of awkward unbelonging had never quite faded. She was done eating, so perhaps she ought to let Mikoto have some time with her _real_ children. Ryouma and Hinoka were out at Fort Jinya, but it wasn’t as if Azura lacked any ways of entertaining herself.

“Azura?” Mikoto called, turning as Azura reached the door.

“Yes?” Azura said, turning back.

“May I speak to you for a moment?” Mikoto asked.

“Of course,” Azura answered with the slightest of bows. “But I don’t mean to take you from your meal.”

“Then might I find you when I’m finished?” said Mikoto. “Would you mind meeting me in the garden?”

“Of course,” Azura said again. She’d been planning on heading to the garden anyway; if there was any place in Shirasagi she had frequented more, she didn’t know what it was. With another short bow, she slipped away.

Azura would never have to wonder if she fit in in Hoshido—all it took was one walk down the halls of Shirasagi to remember she didn’t. Hoshido’s true royals were greeted with warm smiles and respectful bows by the servants they passed; the reaction to Azura was alternatively covert glances or complete disregard for her presence. It was one thing to slip anonymously through the halls without being noticed, and something else entirely to be deliberately ignored.

But the gardens had always welcomed her—especially now, when the warmth of spring bordered on the heat of summer and the last sakura trees still bloomed pink. The whisper of leaves had always welcomed her and the ponds always babbled their cool greetings.

She’d hardly even realized her bare feet had left behind the sun-warmed rocks of the paths and strayed into the ponds the stones circled until the water lapped at her ankles, forcing her to lift the hem of her kimono to keep it dry.

Azura closed her eyes, turned her face toward the warmth of the sky, and _breathed._

How long she stood there, she couldn’t say, though evidently it was long enough for Mikoto to have taken her meal; it was the queen’s voice who finally broke her from her reverie.

“It’s such a lovely time of year, isn’t it? I always forget until we come around again.” Mikoto stretched out a hand, as if wistfully reaching toward a blossom floating far out of her reach.

Azura flushed, hiking her skirt up a little higher and hurriedly striding from the lake. “My apologies.”

“For what? Enjoying the weather?” Mikoto asked. “I can hardly fault you for that, Azura.”

Azura’s face was still a little too warm as she stepped out, though she cleared her throat and did her best to ignore it. “What did you need to talk to me about?” she asked.

“I was hoping you’d like to come for a trip with me,” Mikoto said, gesturing to her slightly to fall in step as they started down the path. “Just the two of us. And my retainers, of course.”

Blinking, Azura took a long moment to answer. “Oh?” she asked, hoping she sounded carefully interested rather than completely blindsided. “Where would we be going?”

“There are a few outposts on the Bottomless Canyon I’d like to visit.”

“Border… outposts?” Azura asked, sure she couldn’t help but sound completely baffled that time. “May I ask why…?”

Mikoto only offered her familiar, knowing smile, settling on a bench to the side of the path. “It will make more sense when we get there, I promise,” she said. “But in the meantime, I have something for you.”

“Something for…?” Azura started, then broke off. “Mikoto, you have no need to give me…”

“No, Azura, I do,” Mikoto said. She reached into the folds of her kimono, producing a pearlescent orb. Azura might have guessed it _was_ a pearl, were it not large enough to take up Mikoto’s entire palm. It warmed Azura’s hand in a way that didn’t seem natural when the queen passed it over.

Azura stared at it blankly for a long moment before she admitted, “I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s called a dragonstone,” Mikoto explained. “Someone very dear gave it to me, many years ago. He told me that I would know when the time was right to give it to someone else.”

“And you think that’s me?” Azura asked. She couldn’t fathom why, not when Mikoto had two children of her own blood, a third missing, and two more by marriage.

“I believe very strongly that it’s you,” Mikoto replied. “For now. I’ll leave you with the same charge he gave me: that you will know when the time is right to give it to its true owner.”

“If I’m just supposed to pass it on, why give it to me in the first place?” Azura asked. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to keep it?”

Mikoto only once more gave her that implacable smile, leaving Azura to wonder if the queen had had one of her famous visions. But who would Azura meet that Mikoto wouldn’t? It wasn’t as if either of them left the castle with any regularity.

“Is the day after tomorrow all right for us to leave?” Mikoto merely asked. “We’ll go by kinshi. It won’t take us more than a day or so.”

“I guess so,” Azura said, turning the dragonstone over in her hands. “But I still don’t understand why—”

Mikoto merely rose to her feet, rested her hand on Azura’s shoulder for a moment, and left the younger woman wondering if the queen cultivated her enigmatic persona on purpose.

~~~

**Windmire Underground, Nohr—May 26, 636**

“Odin!”

“Hark, dear cousin! It has been too long since I’ve laid my eyes upon your visage… and yet, not long enough.”

“Pfft. Glad to see you too,” Laslow said, rolling his eyes. “Hello, Kaze. Sorry if your ears fell off listening to him jabber the whole way here. What _are_ you doing here, anyways?” he asked Odin. “Won’t Lord Leo notice you’re gone?”

“Haha! He will not. For my dark liege and my infamous fellow retainer have taken an illicit trip of their own… Namely, milord has snuck away to see Lady Corrin,” Odin explained. “He ought to be getting in right about now, actually, but he took the ferry—I shall complete my own journey back with ease before his return! And Duke Wilhelm promised, separately, to cover for both Lord Leo’s trip and my own.”

“...An illicit trip to see Lady Corrin, huh?” Laslow asked. “Hope Niles doesn’t hear you call it that.”

“Why not?” Odin asked blankly.

“Lord Leo might not survive the backlash… or Niles will die of laughter. Six of one, half dozen of the other.”

Odin still didn’t quite get what he meant and decided to let it lie with a shrug.

“And _hello_ to _all of you, too,”_ Selena cut in pointedly, crossing her arms and lifting her chin.

“Hello, Selena,” Kaze said kindly.

“There, see?” Selena said. “Not so hard, is it, boys? You. I like you.”

“I… am glad?” Kaze ventured. “Though I will say I’ll take your word for it. Please do not feel the need to offer me any… gifts.”

“Why would I get you gifts?” Selena asked. “Geez, at least these two are smart enough to get _me_ stuff. You want something, buy it yourself.”

Kaze looked oddly relieved at that.

 _“Anyways!”_ Laslow said. He leaned back against one of the stone walls—they’d taken to meeting about a mile down the tunnel that ran from Windmire to Demon’s Falls, both for the privacy its nigh-secrecy offered and the convenience of cutting the last several days off Kaze’s trip. “What’s up on your side of the border? News? Updates?”

Kaze paused to weigh his words in that slow, deliberate fashion of his, then said, “There have recently been Faceless attacks in our northern villages. Do you know anything of them?”

Laslow shook his head. “Lord Xander hasn’t authorized anything going on around the border… but then again, he might know about it and be looking the other way. Couldn’t tell you. I’ll see if I can dig anything up, though.”

“Duke Wilhelm says the border guard caught sight of some of your scouts in formerly abandoned forts on the Hoshidan side of the Canyon,” Odin said.

Kaze sighed. “On Lady Hinoka or Lord Ryouma’s orders, perhaps. Queen Mikoto wouldn’t authorize it. She leaves our own border guard on a skeleton crew as it is. She trusts in the barrier she’s put up.”

And so the back and forth went—from the recent landslide in Macarath that had wiped out almost an entire farming village to a blight of crops on Hoshido’s border with Izumo. There was something soothing in the exchange of information, Odin thought, even if most of it tended toward petty and useless.

Laslow looked better, he realized as he gave his cousin a sidelong glance. It probably had to do with their meeting Kaze back on the solstice—it gave Laslow something to focus on other than babysitting Xander, something that at least _felt_ more worthwhile in the grand scheme of things. It had made the second half of their first year in Nohr pass more easily than the first.

And it _had_ been a year, now, Odin thought with no less shock than when he’d realized it the first time. The Diabolan summer tournaments, during which he and Selena had both officially gotten their jobs, were due to come back around in less than a week. It was why Leo had taken the chance to slip away from Diabola in the first place—Xander would be coming via the Northern Fortress as soon as tomorrow, and the younger prince had been hoping to steal a few extra days with his elder brother as well as taking the chance to see Corrin.

“Well,” Laslow said, breaking Odin’s train of thought. “I have _terrible_ news.”

“You do?” Odin asked with no small amount of concern.

Laslow nodded with a misery that didn’t seem entirely affected. “Silas is being reassigned,” he said. “But His Majesty won’t tell us where or why.”

“‘Us’ as in ‘retainers’ or ‘us’ as in…?” Odin trailed off.

“As in he hasn’t told _Lord Xander,”_ Laslow said. “Forget the retainers. I don’t think _anyone_ else knows what he’s up to. And the _worst_ of it is, he’s coming to the tournament with us to start looking for replacements.”

Odin blinked, then swore. “I hope someone tells Lord Leo that,” he said. “He came this way partially to make the trip with Lord Xander. If His Majesty catches him…”

“He should find out,” Selena mused. “Lord Xander’s heading to the Fortress tomorrow, isn’t he? There’ll be time for Lord Leo to catch an earlier ferry. Sucks he came so far for it, though.”

“Eh, I’m sure he was also largely influenced by the chance to see Lady Corrin, am I wrong?” Laslow said. He then looked back at Kaze. “So basically, you’re gonna want to get the hell out of Diabola and back on your side of the border as quick as you can, or hide out around the Demon’s Falls until the end of next week. Trust me, don’t go anywhere near Tuefell when the king’s in residence.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Kaze said. “And I think I’ll be taking the first option. In fact, I think I’ll start heading back tonight.”

“Oh,” Odin said, not quite managing to hide his disappointment.

“I wouldn’t ask you to return with me, Odin,” Kaze continued, plainly catching it. “I appreciate the escort, but I’m sure you have things to care for here.” He bowed. “Until next time.”

“Be safe, Kaze,” Laslow told him. “Keep your head down.”

Kaze nodded, then slipped into the shadows he was so intimately familiar with.

When a long enough silence stretched out it was plain the ninja was gone, Odin tilted his head. “So,” he said.

“So,” Laslow echoed.

“How comes the Astral Plane?” Odin asked.

Laslow shrugged and looked to Selena. “You’ve seen Lilith more recently than I have.”

“It comes. We’re working on it,” Selena said.

Odin nodded. Since Lilith had brought them to the Astral Plane six months ago, they’d taken to sneaking a little time away every visit to the Northern Fortress. The abundance of Dragon Veins gave them an unprecedented ability to mold the place as they saw fit, giving Selena the original idea to shape it into a secret base of operations. Last Odin had seen there had been a sturdy outer wall in place and Laslow had been suggesting the idea of growing extra food in the dimension of perpetual summer. If they didn’t end up using the resources themselves, well, surely there were more than a few needy Nohrians they could slip it to without notice.

“So,” Odin said. “I’ve been doing some experiments.”

“Oh, gods,” said Laslow. “What did you blow up?”

Odin shot him a heavily unimpressed look. “You remember when Iago tried to have me taken in for questioning after we snuck Lady Corrin out of the Fortress?”

“You mean when Niles spent two months straight telling anyone with ears about you being high as a kite?” Laslow asked. “Nope, don’t remember.”

 _“Anyways,”_ Odin continued. “I have been making discreet inquiries—”

Selena cut him off that time with a snort of laughter.

“What?”

“Sorry. The concept of ‘you’ and ‘discreet’ in the same sentence is pretty funny,” Selena said in a tone that said she wasn’t sorry at all.

 _“ANYWAYS,”_ Odin said again with no small amount of disgruntlement. “So I’ve been speaking to a most helpful mage of the truth-seeking profession located in Diabola. Without revealing my own vested interest in the topic at hand… I have gleaned that there was something odd afoot that day. I _shouldn’t_ have been able to lie like I did, not without them noticing. They have their own magic that ought to come in where the truth serum might fail—though fail it should not. And so I thought, long and hard, about why I was thusly so able to resist it. Am I just that great? Has my own heroic endeavor rendered me so able to—”

“Did you come to any sort of _reasonable_ conclusion?” Laslow cut in.

“I’m starting to think neither one of you actually cares about what I have to say,” Odin grumbled.

“No, we do, we’d just like to hear it sometime this year,” Selena told him. “Carry on.”

Odin sighed, then said yet again, “Anyways. Memories of that day marched through my mind at all hours whilst I pondered this—until, like a bolt from the blue, realization occurred to me!” He paused for sufficient effect. “The first thing they asked me was my name.”

A beat passed. “Ah,” said Laslow. “And you lied.”

“Indeed,” said Odin. “And without much trouble, either.”

“So you think lying to veritasages came part and parcel with the whole disguise deal?” Selena asked. “Nice thought, but I don’t think I’d want to bet my life on it.”

“Well, you see,” Odin said, “that is why I have procured this!” With a flourish, he procured a small bottle of familiar blue liquid. “I have discovered a hallowed tome detailing the basics of such truth-telling magic for those wishing to pursue such a career—I thought we could test it on each other. If such immunity seems to persist, we might try a pass with Lord Leo. He’s trained in it too.”

“Hard pass on Lord Leo for the moment,” Selena said. “If you _are_ right, I don’t want him starting to ask _why_ we can do it.”

“Yeah, Selena’s got a point,” Laslow agreed, eyeing the potion. “You sure about that stuff, Odin?”

Odin paused, then offered, “Well, it wears off in a couple of hours?”

“Great,” Selena sighed. “It probably _is_ a good thing to test, though…” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll go first. Only because you’re the one who knows what you’re looking for on the magic end and if Laslow gets truth serum in his system he’ll probably start crying for three hours straight.”

“I would _not!”_ Laslow protested hotly.

Odin giggled and passed Selena the bottle. “I _think_ I can figure out what I’m looking for.”

“Great,” she said. “Awesome. Absolutely fantastic.” She eyed the potion for a long moment, let out a great sigh, then groaned, “Bottoms up.”

~~~

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—May 26, 636**

Giggles of a truly _frightening_ intensity drifted down the hall, plainly originating from the library. Leo followed them with no small amount of tentativeness, nudging the door open just wide enough to catch a glimpse inside.

And what he glimpsed was a _monstrosity._

The couch where he’d spent so many lazy afternoons had been pushed back so far it was nearly impossible to get in the door. A blanket hung from the back, clipped together with a second in the middle, the far end of the other pulled over two chairs from the dining room. It draped artfully, the edge of a pillow or three peeking out from underneath. The whole thing shook periodically with the force of laughter from inside.

“You know what we need? We need snacks,” came Elise’s voice.

“We do need snacks,” Corrin agreed, a moment before her head poked out from the far side of the blanket.

She lit up like a struck match, abruptly so startlingly _beautiful_ Leo wondered how even almost three months could have dulled his memory of it.

 _“Leo!”_ she shouted, scrambling to her feet so swiftly it was a wonder she didn’t end up careening into half their construction. Leo abruptly straightened from where he’d been half-leaning on the doorframe, hoping in vain to brace for the impact of her that inevitably still sent him stumbling back.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her in return, for once—but gods help him if he could remember the last time he’d gone so long without seeing her, and perhaps this once said gods could forgive him for being so _greedy._ She squeaked a little at the force of his embrace, a pointed turn of the tables that brought a smirk to his face even as he buried it in silken waves of hair.

“Leo _what?”_ Elise asked belatedly, emerging from the blankets herself. “Oh! Leo!”

“Just me,” Leo said, sinking into the familiar realms of sarcasm with easy grace. “Sorry if you were hoping for a different Leo.”

“Never,” Corrin said against him, before tilting her head back to look him in the eye. “My _gosh,_ have you grown _again?”_

Leo stared at her for a moment, thinking she perhaps _was_ an inch or so lower than he remembered her being, then sheepishly admitted, “That _would_ explain the sudden shortness of my stirrups.”

Corrin giggled, gave a swat at his thigh that left him blooming red, and said, “I’m starting to doubt that the rest of you is ever going to catch up with your legs. Geez, Leo, you’re like a newborn colt.”

“It’s not like I have _control_ over it,” Leo pointed out, thinking with no lost fondness of when he’d gained four inches in three months the summer he’d turned fifteen—and had subsequently found himself with legs constantly bruised from forgetting their newfound length _and_ without a single pair of pants that fit properly.

Elise interrupted his reminiscing by planting herself firmly into both of their sides, evidently eager enough to get to Leo she didn’t bother trying to budge Corrin. “We _missed_ you,” she said as the two elder siblings shifted their arms to accommodate her.

“I missed you too,” Leo admitted. “Though I’m afraid I do have to ask what on _earth_ you’ve gotten up to in here.”

Both girls pulled away as one, beaming. “We made a blanket fort!” Corrin said. “Come see!”

“It is our _magnum opus,”_ Elise declared with a lift of her chin.

Leo raised a brow. “I must say I pity the rest of your life if you’ve declared this your greatest achievement of all time.”

“Don’t be _rude,_ Leo, or we won’t share our snacks,” Elise retorted.

“Huh,” Leo said. “What an… easily remedied dilemma. The kitchen is fully accessible, after all. And pardon me for saying that I don’t entirely trust the structural integrity of that… contraption.”

“Leo, somehow I doubt you’ll be seriously maimed by the collapse of a blanket roof,” Corrin pointed out, taking his hand and tugging him forward.

“Not that it _will_ collapse, because it _won’t,”_ Elise said. “Because it’s our _magnum opus._ And I’m going to get snacks.” With that, she ducked through the door and skipped down the hallway.

Despite Leo’s dry protests, he couldn’t find it in himself to resist Corrin’s pull toward the fort. She could have been dragging him towards the very pits of hell and he probably wouldn’t have resisted, he realized with a touch of rue. He ducked under the makeshift door, finding the entire fort had been built over top of a sagging king-sized mattress—he wondered if someone had ended up getting a new one during the spring cleaning. Rumpled piles of more blankets and pillows were strewn across the sheets in reckless arrangements, and Corrin shifted one aside to flop down across the middle of the bed.

“Admit it,” she teased, lifting her head. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

It took Leo a long moment to answer—not out of reluctance to let down his pride, but from how mortifyingly _mesmerizing_ she looked strewn across the sheets like she hadn’t a care in the world. _Gods, but if she isn’t gorgeous,_ he thought to himself, then forcibly shut the idea down as he took his boots off and set them aside. He settled himself cross-legged as close to the entrance as he could fit before he looked up again.

“Well, it’s all right,” he managed to say dryly when he realized the silence had dragged out. “Could stand to be a bit taller, though,” he added, pointedly having to crane his neck to keep from lifting the fabric ceiling.

Corrin rolled her eyes and patted the space beside her. “Well come lay down then, silly, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

 _That’s a terrible idea,_ the rational part of Leo said even as if moved to oblige her. She owned him, heart and soul, no matter the validity of any protests to the contrary. He’d learned that if nothing else the night he’d gone out with Niles, Odin, and Laslow.

It’d probably kill him, one day, he thought even as he settled to face her from far too near and let his gaze trace the sweep of her jaw and follow where her hair pooled behind her.

Then and only then did the implications catch up to him—childishness of the fort’s construction or no, he was in a fashion _laying in bed with her,_ and the thought sent him scooting for the very edge of the mattress and abruptly regretting every decision of the past five minutes. Corrin had a solid half of the available space behind her, and she hadn’t left him far to go.

“Something wrong?” she asked, propping her head in one hand.

Leo shook his head, though he had to clear his throat before he could answer. “I’m a little worn out, is all,” he said. “It’s a long trip from Tuefell.”

“How _are_ things over there?” Corrin asked. “You haven’t written me in weeks!”

He winced at the accusation in her tone. “I thought you’d be bored of the minutiae,” he admitted.

“Not from you,” Corrin said.

Leo didn’t want to admit what those three words had done to his heart.

The library door burst open loud enough to make him jump, followed by Elise’s declaration of _“Sna-acks!”_ She appeared in the fort’s entrance with a bowl of popcorn bigger than her torso and a bag of candied nuts, crawling around Corrin’s other side to rest them on the couch cushions. “Look! It’s a snack shelf!”

“A _fantastic_ snack shelf,” Corrin said, reaching over her head for a handful of treats.

“You’re going to get all that in the sheets,” Leo sighed.

“Oh, lighten up, _Mom,”_ Elise said as she flopped down. “You know, sometimes I forget which of you is older, because half the time Leo acts like he’s a _million_.”

“Leo looks pretty good for a million years old,” Corrin pointed out thoughtfully. “What’s your secret?”

“Teasing my sisters,” he replied without missing a beat. “It’s good for the soul.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Elise said. “You’re so _rude.”_

“Is that you, pot?” Leo asked. “It’s me, kettle.”

Corrin very pointedly took another handful of popcorn and looked between the other two with an unrepentant grin.

“Oh yeah?” Elise said. “Well, Lord Kettle, you’ve met your match with this pot! Because she knows your secret weakness!” She wiggled her fingers menacingly.

“Not the greatest tactical judgment, Lady Pot,” Leo told her loftily, “for you do doom yourself and your ally by engaging in a battle plan that is sure to both bring down your fortress and annihilate your entire food supply.”

Elise glanced between Leo and the snacks, then reached for the nuts. “Well, I suppose for the sake of the snacks,” she said through her mouthful.

“That’s what I thought,” Leo said with a sniff. With deliberate motions, he stowed Brynhildr’s satchel up by the snacks, snagged a pillow for his head, then stretched out on his back, propping one foot over his other knee and linking his hands on his stomach.

With the ease he’d only ever found in the Northern Fortress, he let himself slip into the relaxation he couldn’t achieve anywhere else.

The next thing he was aware of was the deliberate poke of a bare foot into his stockinged one, an arm lightly braced across his chest, and a puff of air in his face.

“Leeeeooooo,” Corrin whispered, a sound so sweet he moved toward it instinctively. His eyes fluttered open to find her face inches from his own, shadowed in a way it hadn’t been a moment ago.

“Mm?” Leo managed, tilting his head towards hers unthinkingly. “Corrin?”

She jumped back as their noses bumped, her retreat enough to jolt him back into reality. His eyes sprang open, his mind now fully awake from the cold wash of horror—had he really been so tired as to fall asleep, so out of it that he’d come _devastatingly_ near to _kissing_ her when he’d woken?

“Sorry,” Leo said, hoping the sleep-roughened note in his voice was enough to disguise the naked terror of his near lapse of control. “You were closer than I realized.”

“Apparently,” Corrin replied with a lilting ease that left him burying his sigh of relief. She hadn’t noticed, hadn’t realized, and he supposed he ought to send a silent thanks to the now burnt-down candles that kept her from reading his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said again—for far more than knocking into her, though he hoped to every god he could think of that she wouldn’t realize that. He sat up, rubbing his eyes mostly to avoid looking at her.

“Leo, it’s fine,” Corrin said with a hint of bemusement. “You hardly even touched me.”

Oh, as if he didn’t know _that._ Leo blinked his eyes open again, casting his gaze pointedly away from her and finding an open gap on her other side. Elise must have gone to bed while he was asleep.

“I mean,” she continued wryly, “Laslow told me he just about took Silas out one time for waking him up.”

Leo vaguely remembered that incident, though it took him a long moment to wrap his head around the wider implication. “When did Laslow tell you that?”

Corrin shrugged. “Some time when we were talking, I guess. I don’t remember exactly when.”

“You’ve been… talking to him a lot, then?” Leo asked, trying to ignore the hot unfurling of something ugly in his middle. Laslow, for his infamous reputation, wasn’t exactly his _first_ pick for a new friend of Corrin’s.

“When he’s here, yeah. I dunno if you’d call it a _lot,”_ Corrin said with another shrug. “But he has a lot of stories. It’s nice to listen.” She grinned, then poked at his shoulder. _“You_ should get to bed before you fall asleep out here again.”

Leo shook his head. “No, I’m awake,” he insisted, then snorted. “Gods, I’m only here for a day and a half and I start off by immediately wasting it away.”

“...A day and a half?” Corrin asked, her face plainly falling at the idea.

Leo winced. “I’m sorry,” he offered again. “I’m not even supposed to be here. It was the most I could get when I’ve got to be back in Diabola for the tournaments.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes falling to where she was picking at the fraying edge of a blanket. “I was hoping you were… _back_ back.”

“Not yet,” he whispered, then wondered if _‘back_ back’ would even fully apply when, sooner or later, he would be wed and forcibly whisked back to spend his days in Diabola.

If one good thing could come of that, he thought ruefully, at least living halfway across the country would make certain accidental near-misses far more uncommon.

Corrin flopped back, puffing out a breath in a plain attempt to rid her face of the strand of hair that had fallen into it. It didn’t quite work, a few wisps catching on her lips instead of falling back into their proper place.

Leo reached, without thinking, to tuck it behind her ear.

His breath froze in his lungs as she turned the barest hint of a smile on him, even that faint gesture setting alight both her face and his frayed nerves. Gods, but if he wasn’t already so far gone for her that he might as well have already found himself in the deepest mires of hell.

“You’re right,” he managed to force out. “I should go to bed.” That was by _far_ the safest option, considering he’d made two fumbles in only slightly more than as many minutes. He didn’t want to think about the potential for a third, even as thoughts as slow as syrup were urging him to _stay, just stay._

Leo doubted he’d be able to sleep at all if he followed _that_ beguiling advice.

“Good night, Leo,” Corrin whispered as he forced his limbs into motion. “I’m glad you’re here. Love you.”

“...I love you too.”

The words tasted as bitter as they always did.


	37. Dead of Night (Part 3) Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Once come upon in an ancient land, I’ve heard the tales of an unseen hand,  
>  Myths of the other side that took my breath away  
> Out in the deep I’ve seen something real, the mouth of the void that the waves conceal,  
> Speaking low, as my thoughts draw near the fray…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure we all knew it was coming but... Here comes Peri. And we know the popular opinion on Peri. And at this point, most of you know MY opinion on Peri. So, full disclosure:
> 
> Peri is getting something of a personality transplant. I generally do try to stay as close as possible to canon (or at least canon intentions) for characterization and she's an exception. I'm growing quite fond of this new Peri already and hope she makes a LITTLE more sense than what Fates gave us.

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—May 27, 636**

_No._

Laslow thought the word with conviction; not a plea but an order, a command with every ounce of authority his years of Exalt and prince had given him.

With simmering displeasure, the magic slowly quieted.

It had taken him the better part of nine out of the last eleven months to wrestle out some form of control over his wayward gift. He could only thank the gods that he hadn’t found himself embroiled in any proper fights since the disastrous night of Corrin’s leave from the Fortress. Now, with effort and an unbending will, he could stamp it out well enough he thought he would be able to endure a proper battle without having to devote his whole attention to keeping his magic hidden.

Falchion arced, a gleam of divine steel against the night. Old sword forms that Laslow had learned a decade and a half ago came to him rustily—he hadn’t had Odin to practice with in months and Selena wasn’t around to lend a hand either, still back in Castle Krakenburg. He sank back into the familiarity, muscle memory taking over as the forms came back to him.

His blade still whipped through the air with deadly force, though he forced himself to admit he was _hideously_ out of practice. Periodic groundings from Xander for various misdemeanors had interfered even further with his attempts to return himself to fighting shape; now, even with the more beneficial boosts from Anankos, he had to admit to himself he wasn’t at the top of his game the way he’d been when he first came to Nohr.

 _Purple_ blazed in his vision, bright enough to half-blind him, and even if his technique had waned over the past few months his instincts certainly hadn’t. Laslow flung himself sideways, form forgotten as he braced for the next attack, Falchion raised against the inevitable volley of dark magic—

No, he realized as he came around. Not dark magic. Brynhildr.

“Ah,” Laslow managed as his gaze landed on where Leo was leaning against the wall of the fortress, divine tome in his hands falling shut. Laslow hoped the prince didn’t catch the slight waver of aborted adrenaline in his voice. “I didn’t realize I’d offended you so much, milord.”

“Quite the reaction time you have, Laslow,” Leo replied with all nonchalance.

“I’d be dead if I didn’t.”

“It would have stung. Nothing more,” Leo said.

“I wasn’t referring to you,” Laslow said flatly, sheathing Falchion. “And with all due respect, milord, I generally don’t appreciate it when my allies fire at me without warning.”

Leo shrugged, uncannily dismissive and more eerily reminiscent of his father and elder brother’s attitude toward the world than Laslow would have expected of him.

A long silence dragged out before Laslow had to break it again. “Do you need something from me, Lord Leo?”

“I wouldn’t say I _need_ you, no,” said Leo. “But I would appreciate a moment of your time.”

“...All right,” Laslow answered, with the growing feeling this was not going to be the most pleasant of discussions. He bit back a sigh—he was used to hearing such lectures from _Xander,_ so what had he done to earn one from Leo?

Leo crooked a finger to gesture him over, then didn’t hesitate to launch into what was evidently his true intent. “Corrin tells me you two have been talking.”

A beat passed. _Oh, JOY,_ Laslow thought. He’d already had this discussion once with Xander back at the beginning of spring—now it looked as though Leo planned on rehashing it. “Yes, milord, on occasion. I’ll admit I do my best not to steal her from you and your siblings, though.” He offered a grin. “There’s no need to be jealous, milord.”

Leo jerked a little bit at that, straightening against the wall; his eyes narrowed with a mix of hostility and suspicion. It had to have been unintentional—Laslow had never known Leo to channel his feelings on _anything_ so clearly, but then—

Oh.

Laslow had hit a _nerve._

A very interesting nerve, if he did say so himself.

“Jealousy is not the issue at hand here,” Leo said in a tight voice that betrayed it very much was.

 _Huh,_ thought Laslow. He’d been starting to think he’d been wrong all those months ago when he’d picked up on Leo’s affections for Corrin. Evidently not. “Lord Leo—” he began.

“I am hardly unaware of your _reputation,_ Laslow,” Leo said. “And I would very sternly urge you to consider the implications of your actions. She is, you may have noticed, my _sister.”_

“Yes,” Laslow said dryly. “Apparently so.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed further. “Xander did tell me you knew,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“And again,” Leo continued, “that is not the issue at hand.”

Laslow sighed. “Lord Leo,” he began, “I can assure you I have no intentions beyond friendship with Lady Corrin.” He paused, a faintly alarmed thought occurring to him, then added, “If she’s given you an indication that _she_ thinks otherwise, I’ll endeavor to correct her.”

“Corrin wouldn’t _know_ to think otherwise,” Leo said. “You might have noticed that spending one’s entire life within the same four walls makes one a little naive.”

“Then I’ll attempt to make myself more clear, if that reassures you,” Laslow said.

“I’d prefer if you kept your distance in the first place, actually.”

Laslow crossed his arms and raised a brow. “And why is that, exactly?”

“Do I really need to explain myself?”

“I’d appreciate it if you did, elsewise I’m going to assume you just want to control who she talks to.”

“I’m her brother. Why shouldn’t I have a say?”

“Isn’t it bad enough that she’s stuck here in the first place?” Laslow pointed out. “Her circle’s small enough without you putting limits on it.”

“Why are you so keen on insinuating yourself into her life?”

“Why are _you_ so keen on keeping me away from her?” Laslow shot back. “Should I tell you again that I hardly have any intention of seducing her? My heart lies elsewhere. I’m not competition.”

It was only when Leo went very, very still that Laslow realized his slip. If Leo did harbor some lingering affection for Corrin, then he surely wouldn’t want it—

“Like I said, I try _not_ to compete with you and your siblings,” Laslow said, hoping that would work as a save. “And I might point out that you hardly forbid Niles from speaking to her.”

Leo frowned and didn’t speak for a moment more.

“I’ve already had this discussion with Lord Xander, for the record,” Laslow finally said. “I gave him the same argument. It’s her life. Let her befriend who she chooses, with as little choice as she’s been given. And if I might beg your pardon, milord, I wasn’t planning on staying out much longer.”

Grudgingly, Leo said, “Very well. I ought to do the same. Niles and I will be leaving earlier than you and Xander, at any rate.”

Laslow nodded, knowing Leo planned on catching an earlier ferry before Garon met up with Xander. “Good night then, milord.”

He didn’t wait for a more proper dismissal.

Laslow bit back a sigh as he ascended the first of the Fortress’s many stairways. Just because he could see where Leo was coming from didn’t mean he had to _agree._ Garon’s influence might have been a little less evident in his younger son than it was in his elder, but it was still unfortunately present, and just as unpleasant an experience to behold when it popped out.

Protests from the princes or not, Laslow needed Corrin on his side. That ranked even above his own convictions on the matter.

There was just so _much_ going on after winter’s quiet. Laslow couldn’t deny his upset at the loss of Silas for a partner or his dread at finding out how would be assigned in his friend’s place. Their experiments with truth serums had yielded nothing certain—Odin wasn’t quite familiar enough with the magic to make a sure call one way or the other.

He had the sinking feeling the quiet wasn’t going to last much longer.

~~~

**Village of Watakami, East of the Bottomless Canyon, Hoshido—May 29, 636**

Mikoto had spent the day shuffling Azura from one outpost to another, working further and further south until they’d nearly reached Mokushu, and the younger girl _still_ had no idea what they were doing.

The sun was creeping toward the western horizon when the queen urged them to a stop in a small village, though she’d sent Orochi and Reina on some other mission that Azura hadn’t caught. Azura had simply dropped her bag into her borrowed room and made up her mind to hide for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t that there was anything _wrong_ with the trip. She’d even enjoyed herself, to some extent. It was nice to have Mikoto to herself, though there was always a frosty sort of awkwardness that Azura had never quite been able to overcome with _anyone._

She sank to the futon and let out a sigh.

Yet no sooner had she done that was she interrupted. “Azura?” came Mikoto’s soft voice.

Azura jumped once more to her feet. _Of course,_ she thought, biting back another sigh. “Hello, Mikoto,” she said again as she slid back the door. “How can I help you?”

“I just remembered there’s a lovely lake just south of here,” Mikoto said with her ever-present warm smile. “Would you like to join me?”

Azura paused. Would it be crass to admit she really _didn’t?_ Probably. “Of course,” she said, straightening. “I’ll just…” She trailed off, not entirely sure what she _just_ planned on doing.

“Excellent,” Mikoto said. She’d changed into a much lighter yukata while Azura had been stewing, while the latter was still in the slightly rumpled kimono she’d been traveling in all day.

They slipped through the village, a few particularly magnanimous farmers tipping their hats or bowing their heads to Mikoto, though no one seemed to pay much attention to Azura. Not that _that_ wasn’t typical.

“Where are your retainers?” Azura asked when they reached the far fringes of the village and the queen’s most loyal servants had made no appearance.

“It’s perfectly safe, Azura. There’s no need to worry,” Mikoto said, striding on and without actually answering the question.

Azura sighed.

They reached the lake in only a few minutes. Glittering orange sunlight reflected off its calm surface, as breathtaking as any of the water features in Shirasagi, though Azura wasn’t entirely sure what Mikoto was intending to _do._

“What a lovely evening,” Mikoto said. She paused at the water’s edge before her shoulders lifted in a long inhale, as if she had to prepare herself for whatever came next.

“It is,” Azura admitted in a tone kept carefully free of confusion.

Without another word, Mikoto stepped into the water.

Uncaring of the state of her clothes, the queen strode onward, her head held high and her every stride measured. The water quickly rose to her knees, her hips, her chest—only when it was nearly to her chin did she turn back.

“Join me, Azura?”

Azura didn’t answer for a long moment, frozen on the shore.

Mikoto disappeared.

The queen’s head vanished between the waves without another word. Azura froze for a painful second, waiting for her to reappear.

“Mikoto?” she called, her voice wavering more than it ought to have. _“Mikoto?”_

The pull of the water drew her as it always did, though this time she shoved it aside with slowly but surely rising panic. Was it an unseen current or some creature of the lake that had dragged her under—

 _“Mikoto!”_ she cried again as she launched herself off the lake bed and _swum._

Azura’s eyes closed automatically, though she forced them open again even against the sting of the lake. Even accounting for the water’s blur, she caught no sight of the queen. Her lungs burned for a gasp, though she forcefully held it. _Where where where is she, what had happened, where did she GO—_

Some blinding flash caught the corner of her eye, and Azura _fell_ like the bottom of the lake had dropped out from under her.

~~~

**Lake Phaea, East of Sulyana Canyon, V____—May 29, 636**

Azura surfaced again, unable to contain her gasp this time, and hurriedly wiped the water from her eyes.

A steady hand wrapped around her shoulders, securing her. She flailed for a moment until the familiar voice reached her.

“There you are,” Mikoto murmured. “I was starting to worry.”

“What _happened?”_ Azura asked, treading water until her toes scraped the bottom of the lake bed again. When had they come so shallow? “You—I thought you—”

“I’m sorry,” Mikoto said. “I wish I hadn’t had to take such lengths to keep it secret from you. There’s much to explain and we don’t have long.”

“Don’t have long for _what?”_ Azura asked, coordinating herself enough to stand and finding the water now only reached her collarbone. “Mikoto, what’s going _on?_ Why are we here?”

A beat passed before Mikoto gave a sad, somber smile. “I don’t think ‘here’ is quite where you think it is,” she murmured.

Azura blinked.

And for the first time, she looked _up._

Islands greeted her, hanging half out of clouds. A bright mirror image of the lake she stood in reflected back from above her head. Trees rose with grandeur toward the sky, but the sky they reached for was _below_ them. It gave her a headache just to contemplate it.

“Where are we?” she breathed.

“This is your true homeland, Azura,” Mikoto said, brushing a soaked strand of Azura’s hair back over her shoulders. “And mine. This is Valla.”

“...Valla?” Azura whispered blankly. “What is… I’ve never heard of a land called _Valla,_ and—how did we _get here?”_

“We came through the lake,” Mikoto said, perfectly even, as if she hadn’t started spouting complete _insanity._ “Come out before you catch a chill, dear.”

Azura shook her head but did as the queen bid. “I don’t understand.”

But there it was, tickling away at the back of her mind, early memories of green grass and warm sunlight that didn’t feel like Hoshido, before the cold and anger and _death_ of Nohr had come. They were faint—so faint she could almost believe they were a figment crafted by her imagination.

Her _true homeland._

“We don’t have long, like I said,” Mikoto said, giving one final squeeze of Azura’s shoulders before dropping her arm. “It’s not safe to stay out here.”

“Why not?” Azura asked, stumbling over her own bare feet as Mikoto strode onward. They were heading into the sinking sun, but the land in its entirety was all so strange she couldn’t even fully convince herself that still meant they were heading west. “Mikoto, _please,_ I don’t understand where we are or why you’ve brought me here—”

“I had to bring you here because there’s a curse on Valla’s name that will kill anyone who speaks it outside of Valla’s boundaries,” Mikoto said, matter-of-factly.

As if she weren’t speaking utter _nonsense._

“That’s… um,” Azura began, then trailed off when she realized there was _nothing_ she could say that would adequately express how mad this whole thing was. “Odd.”

“It wasn’t always like this,” Mikoto said, pained longing in her voice. “I remember… as a child… running through the hills and mountains with Arete and Lydia…”

Azura paused, her heart skipping a beat. “Arete?” she breathed.

“Yes,” said Mikoto, not making eye contact.

 _“Arete?”_ Azura asked again. “You knew my mother?”

“Your mother was like a sister to me,” Mikoto said, moving steadily onward. “Her and Lydia and I… we had our lives planned out.” A beat passed. “I wish we’d had that chance.”

Azura bit her lip. Her mother was a decade and a half dead. _Lydia_ sounded vaguely, distantly familiar, but not near enough to place. If she had once been as close to Mikoto as the queen had claimed...

“This land was once ruled by a great and wise king,” Mikoto said. “King Cadros IV. I always thought it bittersweet that the name of Valla’s first king was also the name of her last.”

Mikoto adjusted their path slightly—they were coming up on a great canyon that seemed to fall into empty air, and she aimed for an overhanging cliff not far from the chasm.

“He died before you were born,” she said. “When everything went wrong.” Mikoto turned to face Azura, once more reaching out a hand to smooth back a lock of pale blue hair. “He would have been so proud of you.”

“Why?”

“He was your father, Azura.”

Azura’s heart thumped oddly, skipping one beat and then another. “My _father?_ You’re saying that my father was _king_ of this place _,_ that I’m—that I’m some sort of princess—” She paused and drew in a gasp. “Why are you telling me this _now?” And more importantly, why does it sound so familiar?_

“I don’t know how long we have, Azura,” Mikoto said instead of answering. Or maybe it _was_ her answer, in some sort of backward, round-about way.

Azura forced herself to take in a breath that was halfway normal. “All right,” she said. “So if it wasn’t always… like this… then what happened to it?”

“There is a dragon that resides here,” Mikoto said. “A dragon like the gods of old. His name is Anankos. One day, in a fit of rage, he killed your father and claimed his throne. Arete and I hid you for over a year… but when Kamui was born, we were forced to flee. I took refuge in Hoshido. Lydia had already gone above—she married a Nohrian duke—and Arete took you to her. Not long after your mother caught the eye of the king of Nohr himself… and you know where it went from there.”

Azura nodded. Her story in Nohr ended in a kidnapping that beat whatever alternative the country of darkness could have granted her. “So… this dragon… did this to Valla?”

“Yes. And he intends to do the same to Nohr and Hoshido. That’s why I brought you here, Azura. The pendant your mother gave you—”

Mikoto broke off as Azura reached through her kimono to clutch at said necklace. She’d never said that it had been a gift from Arete, but if Mikoto had _known_ Arete once…

“She planned on telling you all this when you were older,” Mikoto said. “She just never had the chance.”

Azura nodded. Memories of fairytales floated through her mind, of stories her mother had once told her as a child without naming the names Mikoto was giving her now.

“The pendant and the song she taught you have the power to weaken him,” said Mikoto. “They were intended to prevent what happened here… but it was too late.”

“So you’re telling me I have to defeat a _god?”_ Azura demanded, unable to help the note of hysteria in her voice.

“Not alone,” said Mikoto. “Not at all alone…” She sighed. “Azura, Lydia, Cadros, and I were all from various branches of the royal line. Arete was the most direct, I was from the younger brother of several kings back, Lydia and Cadros the same through the younger sister of a different queen… I never could keep track of it all. Lydia could rattle it all off without hesitation…” With a shake of her head, she finished, “You’re the last five of the royal line. You, Kamui, Takumi, Sakura, and Lydia’s daughter.”

“I… remember a Duchess Lydia, I think,” Azura said, forcing herself to think back to those dark Nohrian years to picture pale hair and golden eyes. Eyes not unlike her own. “She… was very kind to me.”

“She was Cadros’s sister. Your aunt. She would have been. And her daughter is not much younger than you.” Mikoto paused, lifting her head. “We shouldn’t stay much longer. Anankos’s soldiers may find us. Lydia…” She sighed. “She loved this place, even when she moved to Nohr. She would visit sometimes, even in this destruction. One day she never came back.”

 _A daughter not much younger than you._ And her heritage probably as unknown, too.

“Let’s go,” Mikoto said, striding out of the cover and for the canyon.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” Azura asked.

“Only those of Vallite blood can come to this place through water,” Mikoto said. “I’m going to show you the other way.” She paused at the edge of the canyon and offered a reassuring smile.

This time the queen didn’t disappear.

She jumped.

Azura froze. “Mikoto?” she breathed again.

An arrow sailed past her.

Azura whipped back, trying to force her eyes to focus on the wavering, shimmering forms in front of her. “What—”

The creature lifted its bow again.

Cursing herself, Mikoto, Valla, and everything else that had just been dropped on her, Azura jumped too.

~~~

**Bottomless Canyon, Hoshido—May 29, 636**

The endless, icy rain of the Bottomless Canyon hid the evidence of their impromptu swim, at least.

Mikoto gave Azura her usual placid gaze as the latter straightened. “Are you all right?”

Azura blinked, then swallowed. _All right?_ After that, _all right?_ “I got _shot_ at!”

The queen’s eyes widened in alarm. “His soldiers,” she murmured. “I pray they don’t follow us.”

Azura shot a wide-eyed glance back at the canyon, then was forced to face front again at the sound of ruffling feathers.

“There we are!” Orochi said from the back of the left kinshi.

“Ready to go, milady?” Reina asked from the other.

“Indeed,” said Mikoto. “Thank you for meeting us. We’ll head to Watakami for the night.”

 _Head to,_ Azura thought. Like she and Mikoto hadn’t already been there. Reina and Orochi’s expressions were naive and slightly blank. Of course they’d followed Mikoto’s orders without question. The queen had probably just told them to meet her at the Canyon and they hadn’t queried it.

And of course they knew nothing of the lands below. They would have to have been flying too far out to watch Mikoto and Azura appear from thin air in this sort of storm.

Azura bit her lip, moving to climb on Orochi’s kinshi, and wished with all her heart she could go back to knowing nothing as well.

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—May 30, 636**

Leo was coming to the conclusion that anywhere, even Diabola, was more pleasant when his father wasn’t present.

Not that his months in Diabola had been all bad—there was a peaceful, low-key atmosphere in Tuefell that made everything easier to endure. Despite politicking and maneuvering, Leo actually had something resembling _free time_ for the first time in years. He’d actually had the time, the will, and the extra pair of eyes in Gisela to truly start progressing Hati in his training rather than the endless maintaining of their status quo that had characterized their last three or so years. Canter pirouettes were proving an interesting challenge and Leo knew his mount well enough to know the stallion _thrived_ in it.

Despite the circumstances that had pushed him there, Leo was actually rather enjoying himself. It was better than when he and Camilla had been stuck in Cheve for two months the fall before last, at least.

He had, however, quite thoroughly convinced himself that he was never, ever going to be in love with Gisela.

Now, sitting beside her on a slightly too narrow loveseat in Diabola’s most opulent parlor with a tension in his shoulders more associated with Krakenburg than Tuefell, Leo was starting to wonder if said tension had less to do with his home castle and more to do with the king who resided there.

It should have been a cozy evening, after all—Leo, Gisela, Wilhelm, Xander, and Garon were settled quite comfortably around the room, a fire flickering valiantly against the chill of even near-summer Nohr. Perhaps even just the oddness of seeing Garon outside of Krakenburg was what was setting Leo off.

Yet the second prince _still_ couldn’t shake his unease.

“I heard you had a border crossing,” Garon finally said in a gravelly tone that sent a chill up Leo’s spine.

Wilhelm winced slightly. “Indeed,” he said. “A Hoshidan ninja and a member of the Flame Tribe. They claimed no association with each other.”

The duke pointedly did not mention that the border patrol seemed to have caught the unlikely duo on the way _out_ of the country, and Leo gracefully did not volunteer that information either.

“Hmph,” said Garon. “A likely story. You’ve had them questioned?”

Wilhelm shook his head. “We only keep one veritasage on official staff here, and he’s been tied up in the south,” he said. “And we caught them in no man’s land, so our jurisdiction is a little…” He wobbled his hand.

The intruders _would_ have been so kind as to make things complicated, Leo thought again. Though Diabola guarded the Bottomless Canyon, the official borders didn’t reach that far. A long stretch of barren nothingness stretched a band west of the border that no Nohrian territory had ever laid full claim to.

“Better to bring them to be questioned in the capital,” said Garon. “Have them sent to Windmire and see how well their tales hold up under proper interrogation.”

Leo pointedly did not dwell on the likely definition of _proper interrogation._ “Nohr has no quarrel with the Flame Tribe,” he pointed out.

“Only when the Flame Tribe keeps to themselves, _boy,”_ Garon snapped in return. “They have no right within our borders. Especially not when conspiring with Hoshidan allies.”

Leo resisted the urge to wince while Gisela shifted uncomfortably beside him.

“It would be wiser to cede them into more professional hands as it is,” Xander put in. “I have heard the Hoshidan ninjas frequently train to resist and overcome our truth potions.”

“They do,” Gisela said. “They’re damn good at it too. This guy isn’t gonna be telling us what we want to know for a good long time.”

“We shall see about that,” Garon said flatly.

Leo resisted the urge to shiver again.

~~~

As Nohr’s short days sank once more into night, Laslow brushed the last of the dust from Skoll’s coat and silently bemoaned the fact that said dust had quite happily transferred onto him.

Laslow bit back a sigh, exiting the stallion’s stall and setting his brushes away in the locking tackbox outside his stall that Tuefell provided for all equine visitors. The stables were full to bursting on the night before the tournament officially started, echoing with the chatter of workers and snorting of horses alike.

He knelt down, ensuring the box was organized enough for Xander’s impeccable standards despite the fact that Xander would have nothing to do with the readying of his own horse. A beat later, in time with the sound of passing footsteps, came the distinct clip of a hand against his side.

Laslow froze, turning his head by increments. His first instinct was to check his wallet, though the subtle dip of his hand in his pocket revealed that hadn’t gone anywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief at that, thinking that the person could have at least had the decency to _apologize_ for bumping him when a familiar glint caught his eye.

Years ago, in a timeline long gone, Olivia had given him a looping chain from an old costume. It had been another piece of her for him to hang on to after she’d died, alongside her ring that he’d eventually given to Say’ri. He’d had it with him when he’d come to Nohr and, miraculously, Xander hadn’t complained about him _ruining his image_ or anything ridiculous like that when Laslow had come in one day wearing the chain clipped to his belt. He hadn’t been able to keep his wedding ring on display, but his mother’s chain was at least one tangible reminder that Ylisse and Chon’sin and everything about them was as real as Nohr.

Only now that chain was hanging around the back of some girl’s _neck._

 _“Hey!”_ Laslow shouted, scrambling to his feet and not bothering to lock or even close the tackbox behind him. Some distant part of him realized that she might have a partner and that might have been exactly what they wanted, but he didn’t dare double back and rectify his mistake. “Get back here, you little thief, I—”

To his surprise, the girl spun back immediately at his call, an uncannily manic grin on her features. _“Hiiiii!”_ she said brightly, like she was greeting an old friend.

It was enough to make Laslow pull up short, thoroughly baffled for a moment before he finally settled on a flat “Give that _back.”_

The girl’s only response was a wide-eyed look that would have looked more at home on someone Soleil’s age. Her petite stature didn’t help her, either—she was no taller than Say’ri or Lissa. “Give what back?”

Thrown again, Laslow had to gather himself before he said, “My _chain.”_

Her hand darted up to clutch at where the chain hung over her shoulder. “No! It’s mine!”

“Listen, kid—” Laslow began, fighting the rising irritation in his tone.

 _“Peri,”_ she corrected.

“Peri,” he grudgingly acquiesced. “Don’t play stupid. I know it’s mine, I saw you take it, now give it back.”

 _“No!”_ she said again, stepping back and puffing up. “I took it, so it’s _mine!”_

“That’s _not_ how it works,” Laslow said flatly, wondering if he was quick enough to make a grab for it.

“It totally is!” Peri insisted. “Finders keepers, losers _weepers!_ So cry all you want, because now it’s mine! I like it and I’m keeping it!”

“Trust me, you’re not,” Laslow replied.

All at once, Peri’s expression shifted, her too-wide grin returning. “Oh! Do you wanna _fight_ me for it? I’ll fight you for it!”

Laslow bit back a spluttering breath. “No, I do _not_ want to fight you for it!” he exclaimed.

“You _so do!”_ she crowed. “Yes! Let’s do it! Okay! So tomorrow night, go to the Busted Bottle. You know, that tavern on the east side of town? Take the _back_ staircase, all right? And then… hehe, well, you’ll know when you get there. And then we’ll fight for it! Yay!”

“I’m _not_ going to fight you for it, just _give it back—”_

“See you tomorrow!” Peri chirped, turning on her heel and scampering away before Laslow had a chance to respond.

He debated chasing her down again for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists. _Fine,_ he thought. _FINE._ He stalked back to Skoll’s stall, ignoring the fact that his steps were heavier than they strictly needed to be.

“Hope you didn’t want that back, son,” came the voice of an aging stablehand leaning over the window of one of the stalls. “Girl’s a few threads short of a sweater, but she’ll hand you your ass nine ways from rest day if you give her half a chance.”

Laslow gave a cursory glance to Skoll’s tackbox to ensure nothing had gone amiss before he slammed the lid shut and locked it tight. “We’ll see about _that.”_


	38. Dead of Night (Part 3) Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm just a liar without deceiving,  
>  I'm just a broken clown, make believing,  
> I should've let you know, you should've ran for cover  
> I'm just a parlor trick, a two-bit counterfeit..._

**Beneath the Busted Bottle, Diabola, Nohr—May 31, 636**

_Well, you’ll know when you get there._

Laslow supposed he should have taken Peri’s words slightly more to heart.

Like Windmire’s underground, a wide cavern opened up out of the stone, far larger than the tavern basement he’d expected. The scent of booze and other more illicit substances hit Laslow with all the subtlety of a smack to the face, forcing him to take a shallower breath than he’d expected as he descended the rickety wooden staircase.

He also got the sinking feeling as he pushed into the cloud of secondhand smoke and less than pleased faces that he’d perhaps overdressed.

Hans would have seemed like the kindly face of a child’s nurse compared to the current crowd. Greasy hair and bald heads abounded over top of the keen, leering gazes of Nohr’s less-than-savory population.

 _Ah, crap,_ Laslow thought, wishing he’d pushed harder to have Odin accompany him. Evidently, though, Niles had gotten the night off, which meant Odin was at Leo’s disposal for the evening.

Laslow was on his own.

A particularly unkind word reached his ears, though he didn’t quite register it had been directed at him till a particularly meaty hand clapped down his shoulder. “You take a wrong turn up somewhere? This ain’t _church.”_

Laslow dropped a hand to Falchion’s hilt as he wrenched away from the brawny man. Gods, and he’d joked about something being in the water when he’d first come to Krakenburg—this guy had to have a couple inches and fifty pounds on _Xander._ “If you must know, I’m meeting someone,” he snapped. _Definitely overdressed,_ he thought, though his clothes were little more than casual and clean by his usual standards. _Clean_ didn’t seem to be a common feature in a place like this. At least he hadn’t been stupid enough to show up in uniform.

“Oh yeah? There are nicer ways to go see your maker, you know. Unless you’re into that sort of—”

“I’m looking for Peri,” Laslow said flatly.

“Ah,” said the man. “So you _do_ get off on getting your ass beat.”

Before Laslow could interject, a new yet familiar voice cut in. “Leave him be, Vipey. You know the murder doll doesn’t like other people playing with her food.”

Laslow resisted the urge to shudder, though he couldn’t quite help casting a brief look over his shoulder.

 _Niles_ didn’t look a hair out of place in the current setting. His shirt had the sleeves cut roughly off, leaving his tattoos on full display, a wicked smirk painted on his face and a cigar dangling from his fingertips.

“Piss off, Zero. Go stick your nose up someone else’s ass.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s the plan. Laslow’s, specifically. So how ‘bout you leave him to me and _you_ piss off?” And that was all Niles offered before giving the bigger man a delicate wave and half-dragging Laslow away by the arm. “Gods _damn,_ Laslow, you sure as hell don’t waste time. Trust you to hand yourself straight to Viper.”

“What do you want, Niles?” Laslow asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“Ah _ah,”_ Niles said, pointedly wagging a finger. “You think I’m down here laying down a trail that leads back to Lord Leo? You call me Zero while we’re here or I give you back to Viper.”

 _“Fine,”_ Laslow said, rolling his eyes. “What do you want, _Zero?”_

“I think the more pertinent question is what do _you_ want?” Niles retorted. “This is no place for a royal retainer, you know.”

Laslow rolled his eyes again.

“Wait!” Niles said. “Don’t tell me! You’ve secretly been running a black market ring on the side and have come to check all your vendors remain intact? And all your philandering shenanigans are a front to communicate with your sources?”

 _“You’ve_ been spending way too much time listening to my cousin’s delusional stories,” Laslow said. “Someone here stole something off my belt and I’m here to retrieve it.”

Niles sighed. “Ho-hum. So much for exciting new revelations. I suppose I should’ve figured your acting couldn’t be that good anyway.”

 _You have NO idea how good my acting is,_ Laslow thought to himself. “I knew I should have dragged Odin with me,” he said instead. “Though I guess you being here explains why he’s tied up tonight.”

“Odin would get himself either gutted or stripped of what delightfully little he’s wearing on his person in thirty seconds, or likely both with that mouth of his. And don’t give me that face, I know he’s a damn good fighter but even he’s mortal and way outnumbered down here.”

“Actually,” Laslow grumbled, “I just don’t much care to be reminded of that ridiculous outfit he deems suitable for battle.”

“Oh ho, are you sure that’s it? You sound a tad touchy… Don’t worry, Laslow, I think _both_ of you are rather fine to look at with so little on your persons.”

Laslow spluttered for a moment before directing Niles a death glare.

Niles only grinned, taking a draw of his cigar before waving it in Laslow’s direction. “Have a smoke, Laslow, maybe it’ll loosen the pole that’s rammed up your—”

“Do you _mind?_ I’m not in the mood. I’m going to go find what’s mine.”

“Nuh-uh,” Niles said. “Not until you tell me what you want with the murder doll.”

“Peri?” Laslow asked. “I told you, she stole something from me.”

Niles sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Look, doomed philanderer. I know you think you’re hot stuff since you threw the fight with you-know-who but I’m going to warn you. _Once._ That chick’s bad news and you will _seriously_ regret your life. If you manage to keep it, that is.”

Laslow rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve gathered, her maturity level’s about on par with Soleil’s,” he said. “You’re telling me she’s worse than Lord Xander? The six-foot-five battle-hardened warrior?”

“One hundred percent,” said Niles. “Because the ‘battle-hardened warrior,’ oh infamous flirt, has his noble honor code. The little murder doll fights _dirty._ Rather like me, actually.”

Laslow didn’t have the chance to answer when another startlingly large body cut across their path. This one merely paused, smirking, and gestured behind them.

“I don’t _remember,”_ came Viper’s voice again at their backs, “giving you two permission to _leave.”_

“Never said I wanted your permission,” Niles said with a shrug. “You think because your people run Macarath now you’re the big kid on the street? Diabola and Windmire might have something to say about that.”

“Diabola don’t care what happens so long as it don’t disturb the folks up above,” Viper spat. “And I think you of all people knew Windmire’s gang’s falling apart. They’re due for a change of hands. So why don’t you watch your soft little capital mouth, Zero, and leave your buddy for me?”

“You leave _him_ be!” came a voice higher than the rest. Uncaring of the comical height gap Viper had on her, Peri shoved her way into the circle. Her wild eyes, though, alighted on Laslow rather than Niles. “I gotta fight him! He’s _mine!”_

Viper sneered. “I know you want him, little girl, but that depends on his buddy here.”

“Hey, if you wanna play I’m game,” said Niles, holding out his hands. “I think Laslow’d as soon as see me gone anyway. Not that I plan on going anywhere.”

Peri, meanwhile, let out a pointed _Hmph_ and stood in front of Viper. “I said he’s _mine_ so back off!”

“Hell, girl, I told you to _piss off—”_ Viper started again, moving to shove her aside.

In one swift motion, Peri ducked away, sank her teeth into the giant man’s wrist, and aimed a kick at the family jewels.

Viper went down with a _howl_ that reverberated across the stone walls, then started a stream of curses so inventive that even Laslow hadn’t heard all of them before.

Laslow, meanwhile, was doing his best not to wince.

Uncaring of the carnage, Peri swung back to meet Laslow’s eyes. “Laslow?” she asked in confirmation. “I’m _so_ glad you came, Lazzy! Come on, the ring’s this way!” With a beckoning motion, she bounced away, multicolored twintails swinging as she went.

“Seven _hells,”_ Laslow muttered.

“Huh,” said Niles. “How the tables turn. Seems like your night might not be so doomed after all, philanderer of legend.”

“Did you miss the part about her wanting to impale me?” Laslow asked dryly.

“Ah, but women are fickle creatures,” Niles replied with a shrug. “One second they want to stab you and the next they’re ripping off clothes. Play your cards right, and this could be a _most_ wonderful evening for you.” He shot a pointed glance towards Laslow’s belt. “Provided she leaves _you_ intact, that is.”

Hoping the dim underground lighting hid the red blooming on his features, Laslow started after Peri and said, “I’ll see you later, _Zero._ Assuming I live that long.”

~~~

**Castle Shirasagi, Shirasagi, Hoshido—May 31, 636**

Azura’s head had been too full to sleep when they had arrived back the previous night. Mikoto had told her that they could go through the water in Shirasagi just as easily as out near the border and had only taken the trip so Azura would know how to use the Bottomless Canyon path as well, but Azura was not especially keen on taking her up on the offer yet. Their first visit had given her _more_ than enough to process.

She had hoped when she’d yawned her way through dinner that her second night back in Shirasagi would prove more restful than the first, but had only managed to catch two hours of sleep before she’d had wakefulness forcefully slammed back into her.

She took to the gardens once more.

A stiff breeze left her pulling her cloak tighter around her as she went, rather forcibly forbidding any notions of working her way to the lakes and streams that wound through the gardens. She sank against the trunk of a particularly large sakura tree, its leaves decidedly green for the summer, and let out a shuddering breath.

 _Too much._ It all wound together in her head, leaving her burying her head in her knees. Valla, her mother, her _father,_ the broken heritage and birthright that were evidently hers to reclaim, the apparently imminent disaster that might unfold on them at any moment…

How did Mikoto think dropping it all on her _now,_ after knowing for all these years, could make Azura some sort of viable foe for the dragon that had literally rent Valla into pieces?

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when the air shifted almost imperceptibly behind her.

Azura hardly dared to breathe.

Then, with a put upon sigh and the soft sound of fabric against tree bark, the distinctive sound of a body settling beside her came.

Azura breathed again, but she didn’t look and she _certainly_ didn’t say anything.

Then, _finally,_ Takumi said, “This wind sucks. I should have put my hair up.”

“Probably,” Azura said, turning her head slightly to regard him.

Moonlight cast Takumi in an entirely different light. Azura supposed it had been about two years when the rare midnight garden crossings had turned into something more frequent and more… _real._ It hadn’t been uncommon for them to meet each other on the odd occasion before that, but that had been the first night that Takumi had truly, genuinely opened up to her for even the briefest of moments. It hadn’t been much—they’d discussed the rest of the family’s reaction to the then-recent death of Cheve’s governor.

From there, though, their dynamic had undergone the most subtle of shifts. Such starlit meetings, without Azura’s intention, had become far more common. Takumi had been known to wander the gardens on sleepless nights, too, but suddenly it was with unprecedented frequency. His typical gruffness softened toward her under the night sky. They _talked_ in a way that seemed impossible inside the confines of walls and daylight. Azura thought it rather ironic that the true prince of bright Hoshido only came out while the sun slept.

And somewhere in the last two years, her own feelings had veered into wildly unexpected territory.

She wondered if Takumi had the slightest clue that her gaze had wandered to the line of his jaw while she let herself wonder what it would feel like under her lips. She rather hoped not. She didn’t pine hard enough to eat her alive, but sometimes she _wondered._

“What was that braid you did the other day?” Takumi asked, shifting away from the tree for a moment to gather his hair on one side of his head.

Azura blinked, trying to remember, then found herself surprised that _he_ had remembered. Hadn’t that been a month ago? She shook her head slightly and explained the technique.

Takumi followed along—sort of. He fumbled enough around the back of his head that his hair started to twist into a shape misshapen enough that he dropped his hands in disgust. “Ugh, never mind.”

“Try it on me,” Azura suggested, though it took half a second for her brain to catch up with her boldness.

Takumi raised a brow and didn’t answer for a long moment. “Yeah?”

Azura hoped the dark hid the color of her cheeks. “Sure…”

He plainly hesitated as he reached for her and she stifled a shiver. Her hair had tangled from the wind as well, and he eased the knots out before starting in earnest.

“Did you and Mother… have a good trip?” he asked, the words stilted. Even their unspoken agreement that nights were different from days only barely made small talk bearable.

It took Azura a while to answer. “We talked a lot,” she finally said. She wasn’t sure she could manage much more of an explanation.

Takumi was half-Vallite too, she thought. Had Mikoto never explained it to him or Sakura? Why had she chosen Azura?

Takumi gave a noncommittal hum and didn’t speak again until he’d untied one of his familiar red hair ribbons from his wrist and secured the end of her braid. “There,” he said flatly. “It’s done.”

Azura lifted it over her shoulder. “Not bad,” she said, inspecting it. Her gaze darted to his now-bare wrists. “Only now you haven’t got any way to put your hair up.”

Takumi puffed up a little, plainly having not thought of that, then looked away with an arrogant lift of his chin. “Whatever,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

Azura shook her head. However odd their two-year truce seemed, he was still _Takumi._ “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Whatever,” he repeated. “It was nothing.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re a lot nicer than people give you credit for, sometimes.”

“No,” he responded immediately, settling back against the tree and crossing his arms, his gaze pointedly away from her. “I’m not.”

“Uh huh,” said Azura. “And I’ll probably see you out here again before the end of the week, too.”

Takumi snorted. “Don’t bet on it,” he said, gathering himself up to stand.

Azura merely watched, the faintest of smiles on her lips.

She’d see him before the end of the week.

~~~

**Beneath the Busted Bottle, Diabola, Nohr—May 31, 636**

Peri had evidently decided the end of Laslow’s conversation with Niles had taken too long to be acceptable—she’d quickly doubled back for him and yanked him by the hand through the crowd’s underbelly.

Laslow very quickly regretted not stalling longer.

The ring she’d spoken of was only roped off on two sides, he saw when he pushed far enough through the crowd. The rest butted up against an underground lake that looked more natural than the rest of the area, leaving him wondering if whoever had made the place had started from there and moved out.

He didn’t have long to ponder that, though—his eyes were quickly drawn to the fight of the moment itself, which currently seemed to be a three-on-one that was certainly going to end with broken bones on the unlucky fellow’s end. Laslow wasn’t entirely sure if there were any rules involved in this sort of a brawl, but no one was stepping in on the lonely man’s behalf.

“Huh,” said Peri, tilting her head like she was watching an especially interesting craftsman at work. “I thought Marcel was on his way out. Guess not! Heh, hope Pascal doesn’t find me tonight… guess I owe him money now! Aw man, I _totally_ thought South Windmire was gonna change hands!”

“What about Windmire?” Laslow asked, drawing a blank when he felt he should have known better. Niles had been talking about it, too.

Peri giggled. “Do you think we’re _all_ here to fight over jewelry?” she asked. “There’s _all sorts_ of territory wars ‘n stuff going on! Lots of people come in town for the tournament so no one notices that we’re down here having our own! It’s great! I come every year!”

 _Ah,_ Laslow thought. That would definitely explain Niles’s presence, at least—his fellow retainer would be apt to keep his finger on the pulse of the country for Leo’s sake.

It also meant that Laslow had most likely stumbled his way into a nest of Nohr’s biggest and baddest criminals. _Wonderful._

“Hey!” Peri cried, all but bouncing on her toes. “There we go! Slot’s open!” She tugged on Laslow’s arm again, urging him through the crowd.

Maybe he should have just asked Niles to steal the chain back, he thought as Peri shoved her way through with a force that belied her size. Even owing Niles a favor might have been better than this alternative.

“Thankee!” Peri said brightly as someone in the crowd handed her a silver-tipped lance. Laslow resisted the urge to swear under his breath. Lances _sucked_ to counter with a sword. Meanwhile, Peri tilted her head to regard him once more. “Do you want to fight to the death?”

“Uh,” Laslow said, mainly to give his brain time to process the statement before he let out an emphatic, _“No.”_

“Ah,” said Peri. “Okay!”

And that was the only warning she gave before she struck.

Laslow jumped back, giving himself just enough room to draw Falchion before Peri came down on him again. Her tiny size gave her the speed advantage if nothing else and he found himself scrambling to catch up and keep pace.

His stride hit soon enough though, half-remembered lance counters coming in quick succession that kept him on his toes. The crowd fell away, their attentions ignored as he swung to retaliate.

 _Naga,_ but she was quick, hardly staying in one place long enough for Laslow to readjust himself. He wished absently for the easy power his dancer magic had been upon his first arrival in Nohr, then tamped down the longing for the trouble it would bring him now.

Hardly a minute passed, though, before he began to figure her out. Peri was quick and brutal, sure, but brute strength didn’t replace technique. She hadn’t had much formal training, if any—a lance was an easy weapon to pick up without instruction, and it showed—and Laslow shortly noticed her holes.

Peri thrust at him again, wild and more predictable than she probably thought. Laslow, half on instinct, sidestepped, and sent the polearm clattering away with the same impact that sent her staggering back to land on her rear.

For one beat, she _gaped_ at him, her eyes wide—differently colored from each other, Laslow noticed absently. Her mouth dropped.

“Good fight,” Laslow said, reaching down to offer a hand up. “Now I believe I’m owed what’s mine?”

Peri gazed at him for a long moment more.

And Laslow found his feet out from under him.

He tucked and rolled on instinct, nearly catching on her foot that had swept out to topple him, Falchion falling to the stone with the same clatter Peri’s lance had. Peri jumped back to her feet with a mad cackle, hands raised for a fighting stance.

Laslow resisted the urge to swear under his breath, staggering back to his feet. _Seven hells,_ he’d have a bruise from that fall, and hand-to-hand had never been his forte. If one intended to go hand-to-hand with a Risen, after all, one was not likely to come out intact.

He supposed she never _had_ said the fight was to end on a disarm, he realized ruefully.

Peri didn’t give him the chance to mull over any more than that, spinning around with a wicked kick that caught Laslow square in the chest before he even had a handle on what was happening.

“Come on!” she cried without pausing her advance. “I said I wanted to _fight!”_

Laslow _did_ swear under his breath that time—he _much_ preferred to have a solid length of divine steel standing between him and whatever was assaulting him, and while he’d certainly thrown a punch or two in his time his own fists felt quite a bit less reassuring. She caught him again, this time with her fist glancing his temple, even the partial blow hard enough he was certain to have a lovely black eye by morning.

He stumbled back another step and found his feet had hit the underground lake.

Then, as though the water had woken some long-buried instinct that _screeched_ Laslow was unarmed and defenseless and that was _very very bad,_ the familiar electricity that had been so synonymous with his earliest days in Nohr roared back to life.

And he was once more Laslow at his prime, carrying the gift of a god, and he didn’t think Peri realized any sooner the second time he had her on the ground.

He had the weight advantage, at least, leaving her squirming for a moment before directing a petulant scowl at him.

“And how about now?” Laslow said, shifting up on one knee to free himself a little but still fully prepared to drop his weight again. Gods damn, she’d just _had_ to be that stubborn, hadn’t she? He didn’t usually have to solve his problems by _sitting_ on them.

“You _cheated!”_ Peri shouted, her eyes almost crossed from regarding him. “I dunno how, but you _cheated!”_

“Seemed fair enough to me.” Once more, Niles’s voice drifted into Laslow’s consciousness and he resisted the urge to sigh. He just couldn’t get rid of that thief, could he? He glanced up, feeling his face blanch as Niles bent down to retrieve Falchion. “Amateurish, sure, but that’s not the point.”

Peri scowled again, fixing Niles with an upside-down glare before huffing. _“Fine,”_ she said, forcing Laslow to shift off her as she fumbled in her pocket. With an exaggerated toss, she chucked Laslow’s chain on the stone. “Don’t _cheat_ next time!”

Without another word, she got to her feet, snatched up her fallen lance, and stomped back into the crowd.

“Well,” Niles said, idly spinning Falchion and making Laslow’s heart thump unevenly with every turn. He couldn’t even say his possessiveness was unfounded—Niles figuring out Laslow wielded a _divine blade_ was certainly to end in disaster. “That was painful to watch. You need work, philanderer.”

Laslow merely rolled his eyes, stuffing Olivia’s chain back into his pocket. “Future me’s problem,” he said, hauling himself up from his knees. “I’ll take that back too, thanks.”

Before answering, Niles’s lone eye went wide, locking onto something behind Laslow’s back just as Laslow’s own sense of danger went off with tolling bells.

As smoothly and easily as if they’d practiced, Niles tossed Falchion. Laslow caught it midair, spinning back to bring the blade to rest half an inch from the throat of his sneaking opponent.

Viper.

 _“Gods’ sakes!”_ Laslow shouted. “Leave off it!” He took a step back. “Or better yet, _I’m_ leaving!”

“Aww, over so soon, Laslow?” Niles called. “You sure you don’t want to go another round? I can teach you a few better uses for those hands of yours—”

Laslow told him exactly what he could do with _that_ suggestion, then happily left the den of thieves behind with what he’d come for and his pride still _mostly_ intact.

~~~

**Castle Tuefell, Diabola, Nohr—June 1, 636**

Xander, to no surprise of Laslow, was less than impressed with Laslow’s excuse for his black eye the following morning.

“Barfight,” Laslow had said flatly. It had gone over about as well as he’d expected.

To his meager luck, though, he hadn’t been confined to quarters. Xander had appearances to keep at the tournament, which meant Laslow was at least allowed to accompany him through the grounds of Diabola. After the better part of the day, though, he was starting to think that was worse. At least he didn’t have to rub elbows with snotty nobility when he was stuck in Xander’s quarters.

“We may be able to catch the end of the jousting,” Xander said thoughtfully when the division they’d been watching for the last hour came to a close. Laslow, frankly, had stopped paying attention twenty minutes in. Xander hadn’t had the decency to pick anything _interesting_ to watch all day.

Laslow nodded rather than bothering to muster any sort of enthusiasm.

It wasn’t easy to lose Xander in a crowd—it was damn near impossible, actually, considering the crown prince stood a solid head above average. Laslow followed, wishing he at least still had Silas to keep him company and finding he’d grown far more attached to the young knight over the past year than he’d realized. The crowd parted to make a path for Xander, though, leaving Laslow to doggedly continue in the wake.

There was a metaphor in there, he was sure.

“Leo,” Xander said when they’d reached the inside edge of the crowd. Laslow momentarily cursed his inattentiveness—he hadn’t even noticed Xander had altered course for the younger prince. “I thought you would be more interested in the magic divisions.”

“Gisela’s competing,” Leo said, nodding down toward the field with the inscrutable expression he always seemed to wear at the mention of his erstwhile fiancée. “She’s made the final four.”

“Has she?” Xander asked, peering down onto the field. Sure enough, Gisela’s familiar chestnut mount pranced at the end of the line, the only indication of her identity under her silver and green armor. They faced off against a sturdy bay with a wide white star that also held no clue to the rider’s identity but a noble crest on their shield Laslow didn’t recognize. “I didn’t realize she was competing. I would have come by sooner.”

Leo merely shrugged in response.

“Why, Laslow,” came Niles’s familiar drawl. Laslow bit back a sigh. Of course, where Leo was Niles would not be far behind. “I have such _interesting_ news for you. Don’t suppose you could steal away with me for a moment?”

Laslow glanced pointedly at Niles, then at Xander.

“Ah,” said the thief. “All tied up, are we? Well, I’ll leave you to your surprise, then.”

“Lovely,” Laslow muttered, glancing back just in time to see Gisela unseat her opponent.

“Top three, then,” Leo mused.

“She deserves it,” Xander said. “That was marvelously ridden.”

Laslow didn’t catch Leo’s response, because at that moment Gisela’s downed foe removed their helmet to reveal a newly familiar shock of blue and pink hair.

_Peri._

“Who is she?” Laslow asked aloud, looking over Peri with new eyes.

Xander shot him an odd look. “The crest on her shield is of the Earl of Drachmore,” he said. “I could not say exactly who, though.”

Laslow shook his head. _Nobility?_ Or just a servant? And either way, what had she been doing in the middle of everything last night?

He shook his head and watched last night’s irritating foe retreat from the field.

~~~

Gisela came second.

Leo was torn between pride—she really _had_ done well—and relief that he at least had a few more minutes he wouldn’t be expected to be at her side. He had the space to breathe.

And, of course, his father summoned him.

With his last few minutes of peace before dinner cut unceremoniously short, Leo very pointedly did _not_ drag himself to the parlor where Garon was.

Xander had come, too—an ordinary enough occurrence had he not brought Laslow. Even after a year, Leo couldn’t say his elder brother’s retainer was a fully familiar sight. He never quite looked like he was in the right place at events such as these, even though he only held a servant’s place at the door.

“Your Highness,” came an unfamiliar voice, leaving Leo to leave off his nod of greeting to Laslow and gloss over the expected familiar faces in the room—his father, Xander, and Wilhelm—to the pale, straw-haired figure rising to his feet.

“My son,” Garon said, without any hint of warmth. “You have heard, of course, that Lord Moritz has been confirmed as Earl of Darchmore?”

“I have,” Leo said, dipping his head in the new earl’s direction. The news had been surprising enough—Moritz was the second of his father’s sons, confirmed to inherit the title over his elder brother of illegitimate birth. With the last earl having left no confirmed succession, Drachmore as Diabola’s southwest neighbor had been suffering a tense few months of power struggle. “My congratulations, and my condolences for your father.”

Moritz waved off said condolences. “And Drachmore offers our own congratulations to Windmire and Diabola both, on your recent engagement.”

Leo resisted the urge to twitch at the mention. “Thank you,” he said, quite proud of how smoothly it came out.

“I might assume,” Garon cut on, looking pointedly at Leo, “that you would be ready to return to Krakenburg by tomorrow morning?”

Leo paused, having to clear his throat before he answered. “I wasn’t aware you wished for my return, Father,” he said. “But that would be no problem, no. Have you happened to fill the position of Xander’s retainer, then?”

A slightly too-long moment passed before Mortiz’s face broke into a too-tight smile. “My youngest sister,” he said. “She is quite the fighter, and tends to find Drachmore… stifling. Many thanks to you for extending her the offer, Your Majesty. We appreciate it greatly.”

“I’m sure Peri will prove to be a capable asset to us,” Xander said.

Somewhere behind Leo, Laslow choked.

Moritz, meanwhile, only gave a tight smile that Leo knew from years of the backstabbing court meant he was far from saying everything he was thinking. “I ought to be on my way,” he said demurely. “Many thanks to you again, Your Majesty.”

Garon acknowledged the earl before he went on his way while Leo buried a sigh. _Politics._ He was quite of the mind that Silas would prove perfectly capable as Xander’s retainer—he’d tried to take Silas on as his _own_ retainer before Odin had come into the picture, after all—but the sister of an earl would prove more politically savvy to take on when Silas was the mere son of a baron. “Has Silas taken new orders?” Leo asked once Moritz had gone. “He would do well in the palace guard, I imagine.”

“No.”

Garon’s flat voice once more made Leo wince. The younger prince shot Xander a look that was returned so blankly he supposed his brother hadn’t heard of Silas’s fate yet either.

“Silas,” Garon continued, “will be taking on another position in the family.”

Leo’s brow furrowed. With the addition of Peri, all four siblings had two retainers now. Who would need Silas?

“We will be taking our leave in the morning. And from there, my sons, I will send you to the Northern Fortress. For your curiosity, Silas’s new orders will come into effect there.”

Leo froze.

_He doesn’t mean—_

“It is time,” the king said, “for Corrin to join us in Krakenburg.”


	39. Dead of Night (Part 3) Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All those nights alone, I faced my fears in the mirror,  
>  Found my way to show who I am, won't disappear  
> The scars from the fights I came through the years,  
> The constant reminders of what got me here,  
> They were the start of something great, now here comes the shakedown..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 38 chapters and almost 200k words later... LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> (Also, the scene which differs greatly from canon has been lifted from the Crown of Nibelung manga)

**Northern Fortress, outside Windmire, Nohr—June 5, 636**

Leo sat under an eave of the fortress to shield himself from the thick mist of lazy rain, barely even able to feign interest in his book.

Xander and Corrin spun, locked in dizzying combat, trading blows almost faster than Leo could see. Her disastrous trip to the meadow last fall had done nothing if not spur her on, and in the visits he’d managed he watched her skill jump a bigger gap in the last seven months than the three years prior.

He burrowed a little further back into his dry corner, sheltering his prop of a book as he watched. His mouth had gone dry as he’d watched the duel, his hands trembling almost imperceptibly.

_Home. She’s coming home._

Biting his tongue the previous night had possibly been one of the hardest things Leo had ever endured. He and Xander had both agreed, though, to save the news for when Camilla and Elise arrived, so they could share it as a family. Their sisters were due any minute now—perhaps sneaking Corrin’s new mount into the stables at that very moment, actually—and still she had no idea what was about to be dropped on her.

 _Home home home—_ Leo thought, his heart seeming to pound out the very beat of it. And not just home—everywhere else she’d wanted to go, everywhere else he’d promised to take her. He’d have to clear his schedule long enough to get them to Cyrkensia—he’d vowed to her, years ago, it would be the first place he took her when she left the Northern Fortress. Leo could see her now, wide-eyed and awed against the backdrop of the opera house, abruptly so close he could _taste_ it.

In Leo’s moment of distraction, Corrin lunged and struck, sending Xander’s blunted practice sword flying to land on the stones with a clatter.

For a long moment, Corrin froze, her own sword still raised, crimson eyes visibly flickering from the sword to Xander’s face even at Leo’s distance.

Leo was abruptly so proud of her he could hardly breathe. He rose to his feet, stowing his novel in his satchel beside Brynhildr and silently crossing the courtyard.

“Well _done,_ little princess,” Xander said, the hint of a smile coming to his features as he lowered his hands and bent to retrieve his weapon. “You’re getting stronger every day.”

A high-pitched giggle escaped from Corrin’s throat before her face split into a wide, beaming grin. “Thanks, Xander,” she said. “I couldn’t have done it without your, uh, _tough love.”_

“You’ve worked incredibly hard to come to this point,” Xander said. “A few more years and you might be the strongest warrior in all of Nohr.”

Corrin turned bright red. “Now you’re just teasing me,” she grumbled, her voice still a little too high.

“I never joke about serious matters,” Xander told her. Leo was rather of the mind that his brother never joked about _any_ matters, but that was beside the point. “I mean what I say.”

“Typical,” Leo said, crossing his arms as he fell in beside the other two. “You know that strength is more than simple swordplay, right?”

Xander shook his head. “Calm yourself, little brother. You really are competitive to a fault.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Well, just remember that pointy metal sticks are not the only path to power.”

Corrin eyed him for a moment before her smile turned wicked. “Oh, that reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to tell you, by the way.”

Leo lifted a brow. “Something important enough to derail this conversation?”

“Definitely,” she said, still smirking. “Your collar is inside out.”

Leo felt the blood drain from his face as he took one step backward, then another. “What? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“It would appear someone got dressed while still half asleep,” Xander said drolly, followed by another lilting giggle from Corrin.

“Sorry, Leo,” she said.

“No, you’re not,” he grumbled, making for the privacy of inside the fortress to fix his current predicament.

“I’m a little sorry!” she called after him.

“I don’t believe you!”

Once more, only her pealing laughter followed him.

When he remerged back into the drear day, collar fixed (and curse Niles, too, for not saying anything), he blinked back the mist just in time to see Elise launching herself at Corrin hard enough the elder staggered back.

“Corriiiiin!” the youngest princesses shouted. “I’m so excited to see you!”

“I’m excited to see you too, Elise,” Corrin said, her laughter slightly breathless now. “Hi, Camilla.”

“Do give me some room, Elise,” Camilla chided, ignoring Elise’s pout as she, too, moved to embrace Corrin. “There we are, dear. The boys have been behaving themselves, haven’t they?”

“Has Leo been being a _meaniepants?”_ Elise added.

“Honestly, Elise,” Leo said, rolling his eyes as he moved to take his place once more. _Home, home, home,_ he thought again. “You really do need to work on your insults.”

“Now is hardly the time,” Xander said. Then, when a loaded beat passed in silence, he cleared his throat. “As it happens, Corrin, we have some news for you.”

“Yeah?” Corrin said, turning slightly to face him and catching the faintest hint of warm light on the chill day. Leo struggled to breathe once more.

“Let me tell her, Xander, can’t I?” Camilla said, beaming openly when Corrin spun again to face her. The elder rested her hands on the shoulder of the younger, eyes shining. “Corrin,” she said softly. “Father has asked us to bring you back to Krakenburg with us.”

Silence reigned.

Then, the stillness so prevalent her swallow was audible, Corrin whispered, “He has?”

Camilla gave a throaty laugh that ended in a watery choke. “He has,” she said, abruptly drawing Corrin into another embrace. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. This is your last night in this drafty old fortress.”

“Isn’t it _wonderful?”_ Elise cried, flinging herself against the other two. “You’ll finally be _free_ and we can show you _everything—”_

Corrin’s body bowed, then almost seemed to break as she bent against Camilla and let out a sob. When she finally pulled away, though, she was beaming bright enough to outshine even the sunniest of Nohrian days.

She whirled to hug Xander, then, giggling loud enough to reach the roof. “Oh my _gosh!”_ she cried, hanging off his neck for a long moment before turning on Leo.

He would swear for a moment her lips grazed his cheek before she departed, and he valiantly pushed the idea from his mind.

_Home._

_She was coming home._

~~~

_“Lazzy!”_

Laslow winced automatically—there was only one person that nickname could have been coming from—and moved to hide the bottles in his hand behind his hip, vain though the gesture might be. “Hello, Peri.”

 _“Hey!”_ Peri said, practically skipping to fall in beside him. “What’cha doing tonight?”

“Uh,” Laslow said, casting a look down the hallway in hopes of one of his better-behaved compatriots appearing. He had no such luck. “Not much, I’m afraid,” he said. He had a great deal of catch-up to do with Odin, Selena, and Lilith—which was where he was headed—but Peri was certainly not invited to that sort of meeting.

“Aw, really?” she asked. “Can we fight again, then? Oh, c’mon c’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“Ah,” Laslow said. “No, sorry, I can’t. I have… stuff… to do. For Lord Xander, you know.”

Peri’s face fell into a pout. _“Seriously?_ Can’t it _wait?”_

Laslow cast his gaze valiantly skyward for a second, thinking with slight amusement of Xander’s absolutely _flabbergasted_ expression upon his first meeting with his new retainer the moment Peri had opened her mouth. Laslow might have thought it funnier if he wasn’t stuck with Peri as much as Xander was. “No, Peri,” he said. “I know you’re new at this, but our duties to Lord Xander need to take priority over anything else.” The words tasted sour on the way out, true though they might be even if it was a fib in context. “I’ll see you later.”

Peri huffed at his back and Laslow strode away slightly faster than was polite.

He knocked at his intended door a moment later, opening it to find Selena’s room already occupied by Odin as well. With an exaggerated sigh, he set the precious bottles on her dresser near the door and said, “Selena, I’m assuming you’re armed, right?”

Selena lifted a brow, exchanging a brief glance with Odin on the far wall. “...Yeah?”

Laslow held his arms out, closing his eyes and throwing his head back to make himself an exaggeratedly open target. “Make it quick, please.”

After a long beat, he peeked at her again, finding her brow had ratcheted even higher as she looked at Odin once more. “He’s really making it _awfully_ tempting,” she said pointedly.

Odin sighed, leaning further against the wall. “Please do not actually kill my overly dramatic cousin.”

Laslow straightened with righteous indignation. _“I_ am not the overly dramatic cousin here, _Odin!”_

“Oh, all right, all _right,”_ Selena said, rolling her eyes. “You can live, this time. Only because I see you brought the good booze.”

“That I certainly did,” Laslow said. “Only the best to drown my myriad of troubles.”

“Dramatic,” Odin said, pushing away from the wall to investigate Laslow’s offering.

“Oh, I’m sorry, talk to me again when you have to deal with Lord Xander _and now Peri_ on a daily basis,” Laslow shot back. “You, too, would be begging for the sweet release of death at dear Selena’s hands.”

Odin gazed at him steadily for a moment, then popped the top of the first bottle and took a swig.

“Oh, gross, I was gonna drink that,” Selena complained.

“I would think, my redheaded compatriot, that you would be old enough now to understand that the myth of ‘cooties’ is only fiction,” Odin pointed out.

“It’s not your cooties I’m worried about, it’s your hygiene,” Selena replied flatly.

Laslow let out an eloquent snort of laughter while Odin’s face morphed into deep offense. They were saved from a long and insulted tirade, though, by another knock at the door.

“Lilith,” Laslow said, sending a wary glance down the hall before ushering her in. “We were coming down to meet you.”

Lilith shook her head as the door closed behind her. “Lord Leo has been down there for a while now,” she said. “Better not to risk him seeing us.”

“Good point,” Selena said, rising from the edge of her bed and making for the second of Laslow’s bottles. Then, after a beat, she said, “So.”

“So,” Laslow echoed.

After another beat, Odin finished, “So.”

Lilith sighed, shaking her head, then said, “It seems as though our jobs are about to get far more difficult.”

“Indeed,” said Odin, leaning this time against the dresser.

“I’m going to be coming back to the capital with you,” Lilith said. “I’ll be working in the stables there. Flora and Felicia will be staying here for a while, but I believe now that Lady Corrin is leaving the plan is to shut up the fortress again.”

“So I guess we’ll just all have to rotate through keeping an eye on her depending on where she is and who she’s with,” Laslow said. “And if Silas is going to be her retainer, he should be good at keeping her out of trouble… any word on if she’s going to have a second or not?”

Lilith nodded. “Jakob,” she said.

“Oh, _joy,”_ Selena said, rolling her eyes.

“Heh, I don’t think he cares for us any more than we care for him, so maybe he’ll stay out of our hair,” Laslow suggested.

“So basically,” Odin said, “things have gotten more complicated, but not necessarily _worse.”_

“Necessarily,” Lilith said dryly.

“Right,” Selena said. She blew out a breath. “Oh, this is gonna be _nuts.”_

~~~

Leo supposed ‘deja vu’ was technically the wrong term—he actually _had_ done this before, and though the horse had been different, his motivation had been similar.

In Diabola as he was, he hadn’t gotten the chance to vet or offer any input on Corrin’s new mount, meaning he made a beeline for the stables after dinner when the opportunity finally presented itself. It reminded him strongly of when she’d first gotten Misty—though he still couldn’t help the shade of doubt on the validity of the excuse that the black mare couldn’t leave the Northern Fortress any more than Corrin could due to her lameness issues.

Leo paused at the sight of the newest occupant, tilting his head for a moment before recognition set in. The horse’s face held a passing familiarity to him from various sightings in Krakenburg, though he couldn’t put a name to any of the horse’s old riding partners. Poker, his name was, and he glanced up with mild interest as Leo leaned into his stall.

Leo regarded him keenly for a moment. A stallion would have hardly been his first pick for Corrin—he knew full well the _unique_ challenges of an equine partner that happened to still be a fully intact male—but Poker, rather like Skoll, had always seemed to act more gelding than stud. He wasn’t of the giant, warmblooded destrier lines the rest of the family favored, and in fact was squat and sturdy enough to look out of place alongside the lines of Freddy and Hati, but Leo supposed that was more blessing than curse. Corrin would have an easier time adjusting to a horse that didn’t feel like it would catapult her out of the saddle with every stride.

After a moment more, Leo ducked into the stall, first evaluating Poker’s general, laid-back demeanor before taking a cursory glance at his teeth to confirm what he’d already guessed. Poker was a little older, perhaps in his early twenties, experienced enough to make up for anything Corrin might lack.

He was just an oddly _plain_ mount for a princess to ride.

Leo sighed, then straightened, keen on fetching a lungeline from the tack room when he left the stall and pulled up short.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Corrin said, her head slightly tilted and a smile playing on her lips.

“Ah,” Leo said, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “Guilty as charged, I suppose.”

Corrin shook her head, a fond smile tugging on her lips before recognition lit up her face. “Is this him?” she asked, scampering to the front of Poker’s stall.

“Indeed,” Leo said, standing slightly aside to give her room.

“I can’t believe you guys didn’t even tell me about him for the whole day,” Corrin said, stretching a hand in the stallion’s direction. Poker pricked his ears at her and half-heartedly sidled over, looking more interested in his hay but keen to see if she held any sort of more interesting food. She didn’t, unfortunately, leaving Poker to snort into her empty hand and wander away again.

“I imagine packing was rather more pressing for you,” Leo pointed out.

“Felicia and Flora have taken care of most of it,” Corrin said, leaning her chin on where she was resting her forearms on the stall window. “It’s gonna be so weird leaving them here. I mean, Jakob and Gunter and Lilith are all coming with me, but…”

 _That’s far from being the weirdest thing you’ll have to get used to,_ Leo thought, though he wisely bit his tongue. He’d tried not to let his head circle to the more negative reasons Garon might have had to finally release her—trapping her in a political marriage as he had Leo was very high on the depressing list—yet he’d found it inevitable anyway.

Not to mention she would find Krakenburg a very different world entirely than the Northern Fortress. There was, unfortunately, only so much they could do to shield her from that.

“But,” he finally ventured, sending her a sideways glance. “You’re excited?”

Corrin shot him a heavy look before breaking again into a massive grin. “Are you _kidding?”_ she asked, elbowing him harder than strictly necessary before twining her arm through his. “Leo, I… I finally get to…” She trailed off, her eyes shining as she glanced away. “After all this time…”

“I suppose,” Leo said loftily, “I’ll have to get around to booking us lodgings in Cyrkensia, then.”

Corrin’s head whipped back around. “Do you mean that?” she whispered.

“Of course I _mean_ it,” he answered, lifting his nose. “I meant it when I first said it and I mean it now. Just who do you take me to be, sister?”

A wicked smirk came to her features that left Leo opening his mouth in a vain attempt to backpedal that she swiftly cut off. “Well, let’s see… you’re too clever for your own good, you’re quite possibly the most talented mage of the century, you spend way too much time in the library and not enough time in the sun because you’ll burn crossing the courtyard on a cloudy day, annnnnd…” She trailed off, tilting her head. “I happen to know that you’re also ticklish.”

_“Gah Corrin do not—”_

Pealing laughter echoed through the barn as Leo stumbled back and out of her reach, leading to more than one horse lifting their heads in alarm—Hati among them.

“I have a warhorse, you know,” Leo said, his voice a little too high to be as intimidating as he’d hoped.

Corrin merely peered at him as he took his place at Hati’s stall, her body still almost visibly bubbling with mirth. “Very mature,” she said.

“Of the two of us? Yes, I am,” Leo pointed out. “Thank you for noticing.”

She rolled her eyes, then let out a sigh that seemed to settle her a little. “Leo?” she finally whispered.

“Yes?”

“What about Misty?” she said, casting a glance toward her beloved black mare. “It’s only… no one else rides her, and she’s not supposed to leave here, but I’m not going to be here anymore…”

Leo bit back a sigh of both exasperation and fondness. Of course that would be her concern. “I’m sure she’ll be cared for,” he said.

Corrin still frowned, scuffing one foot against the aisle floor. “It’s going to be… really different outside, isn’t it?”

Leo sobered, once more forcibly pushing back the unpleasant possibilities that plagued him. “Yes,” he said softly.

“But,” she continued, “it’s going to be really great, isn’t it?”

The faintest edge of a smile tipped his lips. “I hope so.”

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 6, 636**

“It’s… this is… _wow.”_

Sights and sounds and smells clamored for her attention, so strongly it made her ears ring and her eyes water. There were more people than Corrin had ever seen in the rest of her life combined all crowded into even the most outward fringes of Castle Krakenburg. Maids scrubbed, servants bowed in deferment, guards marched by in perfect formation. It was almost enough to make her forget how to _breathe._

“Isn’t it?” Elise cried, buzzing with so much energy herself that Freddy had started tossing his head. “And we’re not even really inside yet, just wait! Oh my gosh we have so many places to show you—the library here is, like, a million times bigger than yours!”

“A million is a much larger number than you seem to think it is, Elise,” Leo said. “I’d venture to say seven or eight is a more accurate estimation.”

Elise stuck her tongue out at him. “You knew what I meant!”

“That’s really amazing,” Corrin said, though her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. She felt like she’d spent so much excitement she hardly had any left to give. And there was just so _much_ to take in _…_

“Camilla and I have a few things to attend to,” Xander said, dismounting and passing Skoll’s reins to Laslow. “Father has asked for our presence in the throne room at noon, that he might welcome you home personally. Leo, Elise? You’ll help Corrin settle in?”

“Of course!” Elise said, jumping off Freddy herself and bouncing on her toes. “Here, come on, we’ll put the horses up and then go!”

Corrin scrambled from Poker’s back, following her two younger siblings and their scattering of retainers with the sinking feeling she was going to spend a lot of time in Castle Krakenburg getting lost.

A stablehand whisked Poker away from her almost as soon as she entered, a weird concept when Gunter had unerringly drilled into her to care for Misty herself. Another did the same for Camilla’s mount of the week and a third for Freddy, though Laslow had taken Skoll himself and no one seemed inclined to relieve Leo of Hati.

“Don’t take too long!” Elise called after Leo.

“Do _not_ leave without me,” Leo replied over his shoulder.

Elise stuck her tongue out at him again, though with his back turned Corrin was fairly sure he didn’t actually see that one.

“Wow,” Corrin said after a long moment, subconsciously sidling back into an out of the way corner. There had to be _hundreds_ of horses tucked away in the massive stable complex.

She was _totally_ going to get lost all the time.

“What’s he doing?” she asked after a minute, fiddling with the edge of her cloak.

“Oh, he’s just putting Hati up,” Elise answered. She leaned over and covered her mouth with her hand and stage whispered, “Most of the workers here are scared of him.”

Corrin paused. “Leo or Hati?” she asked.

Elise only giggled in answer. As the minutes passed and Corrin continued to fidget, the younger princess eventually linked her arm through the elder’s.

“Well then, sister,” Leo said when he reappeared. “Where to?”

“Oh,” Corrin said, linking her fingers and twisting them over each other. “Um… I guess… my room would be nice?”

Leo inclined his head and gestured them out of the stable, though she found the rest of his expression unreadable, a far cry from the open warmth he’d had in _her_ stables. _Not that they’re my stables anymore,_ Corrin hurriedly amended.

She might never have to step foot in the Northern Fortress again.

That thought made her smile even as her stomach continued to knot and flip over itself. Elise continued to hold onto her arm as Leo led the way deeper into Krakenburg.

And deeper they went, following twisting paths and bridges into the earth itself. Along the outer walls, more tunnels branched out, glimmering with lanterns until the darkness swallowed the light once more.

“How do you even find your way around?” Corrin asked, hardly daring to raise her voice above a whisper.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Leo said. “You’ll get used to it… rather quickly…” He trailed off, holding his hand out for them to stop before coming to a halt himself. “Actually, let’s go a different way.”

“What?” Corrin asked. “Why?”

Beside her, Elise let out a mousey “Oh.”

Her curiosity too piqued to ignore what was going on, Corrin rocked onto her tiptoes to peer over Leo’s shoulder.

Her mouth went dry.

“Wait,” she said. “What’s going—”

“They’re just moving prisoners,” Leo said, turning back in a plain attempt to block her view. “It’s no danger. The guards have them restrained. Still, it’d be better for us to take a detour—”

“No, Leo, _wait,”_ Corrin said, pushing at his shoulder so she could get past him, eyes still locked on the company of guards and the two bent, filthy figures at their formation’s center. “I think they’re hurt—Elise, you’ve got a stave or something, right?”

“Um,” Elise said, still frozen for a second before she answered. “I’ve got a few things, I guess—”

“Corrin, _wait,”_ Leo said, his tone growing sharp as he moved to catch her arm again. The guards had evidently noticed their argument, as a few of them looked up and one motioned for the company to stop. “Listen to me. Those two are prisoners from Hoshido. They crossed into our borders as enemies of Nohr.”

“...Enemies?” Corrin asked, feeling her throat close up slightly as Leo regarded her with all seriousness.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry, Corrin, but this is the way things are—”

She shook her head, sharply pushing her hair back behind her ears when the motion dislodged it. “But that doesn’t matter! They’re _hurt,_ Leo, can’t you see?”

 _“Corrin!”_ he called after her again as she sidestepped him and strode past, heart thumping in her throat.

“Um,” Corrin managed as she approached the lead soldier, squaring her shoulders and having to push the words out of her suddenly bone-dry mouth. “Um, these prisoners… Can you, um… Well, my sister is going to heal them, you see…”

When she trailed off, the soldier’s mouth twisted into a wicked smirk. “That will hardly be necessary,” he said, his tone dripping acid. “King Garon has ordered these two executed as soon as we’re through questioning them. Move aside.”

“... _Executed?”_ she squeaked out. “But why would they be—you don’t need to _kill_ them!”

 _“Corrin,”_ Leo said again, his tone as sharp as before as he took hold of her arm once more. “That’s not for you to decide. And _you—”_ he addressed the guard, “—ought to pay your due deference to the princess.”

The guard straightened at once, clearing his throat. “My apologies, Your Highness. I hadn’t realized…” He shrugged slightly. “But still… even for a princess, hindering the king’s decree is a reportable offense.”

Leo, as well, seemed to broaden his stature, a hardness in his voice Corrin had never heard before. “That is hardly your business.”

“Oh, but as a servant of the king, I’m afraid it is,” the guard said. “It would not do well to let such dissension go unaccounted for, would it?”

“No,” Leo said flatly. “It would not. But then, nor would it be prudent to bring forth such low prisoners through at _conveniently_ the same time Princess Corrin was due to arrive… Don’t tell me you were not aware of her return. It reflects ill upon you to pollute her gaze with the likes of these.”

 _“Leo!”_ Corrin cried, her heart clenching in horror at the callousness of his words. What was he _saying?_

The guard seemed to deflate a little, though his words were grudging. “My deepest apologies, Your Highness. It won’t happen again.”

“No,” said Leo. “It will not. And for that matter, this incident would be best handled now.”

Corrin relaxed slightly. Leo had it taken care of. He’d sort this out for her. She offered a warm smile to the two prisoners—a man with green hair and a woman with white, both of whom were sporting busted lips and various bruises—and let her shoulders slump in relief.

Leo, meanwhile, glanced back—Corrin followed his gaze to where Odin and Niles were coming down from another path—and reached inside the folds of his cloak. “Corrin,” he said softly. “You’re in the way.”

“...Huh?” she managed, taking a step back automatically as he produced Brynhildr.

And in a bright, blinding, horrible flash of light both prisoners dropped to the ground limply.

Corrin froze, her eyes so wide they ached, only numbly aware of Elise taking her hand again. _No no no—he wouldn’t, not Leo, he WOULDN’T—_

“My apologies, hm?” Leo said, his tone much too light and terrible in a way that made her cringe. He clapped Brynhildr shut. “The story is my sister and I thought you were doing an exceedingly poor job and so had to be corrected. Now, be sure to keep what happened early to yourselves.” He raised a hand, snapping his fingers in the direction of Niles and Odin as they approached. “Their execution came a bit early, but that’s no matter. I doubt they would have answered much more questioning. Take these to my chambers,” he told the retainers. “I wish to examine the bodies. Corrin, let’s go.”

He caught her other hand in his, his grip leaving her flinching as he strode on.

 _“Leo!”_ she finally said in muted cry. “Leo, why would you— _how_ could you! They didn’t need to be executed—”

“Agreed,” Leo said lowly. “Now hush.”

_...What?_

“Just go with it,” Elise whispered from her other side. “It’s okay, big sister, I promise.”

No one spoke again through the dark, winding pathways. Finally, as the tunnels grew wider, brighter, and cleaner, Leo stopped at a door, swiftly unlocked it, and ushered them both inside.

“This is yours,” he said flatly, passing her the key before she’d had scarcely a moment to look at what she could only assume to be was her new room. It was bigger than her room in the Northern Fortress, but oddly sterile in the way only an unlived place could be. A massive bed and a solid desk were the only things she really glimpsed before he spoke again. “Corrin, _don’t ever do that again.”_

Elise squeezed her hand again, leaving Corrin only to clear her throat and forcibly lift her chin to meet Leo’s gaze. “Leo, your spell—”

“Was only enough to knock them out, yes,” Leo replied, his words a little too quick and sharp. “Though gods help me if Father ever finds that out…” He trailed off with a sigh, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to have to come out and say this, but… This isn’t like the Northern Fortress, Corrin. Father’s word here is law. Even we can’t go around defying him.”

Corrin bit her lip. “But… what about when Father’s wrong?”

Leo shook his head. “As far as we’re concerned, there’s no such thing as Father being wrong. So _please,”_ he said, “don’t do anything like that again.” When she didn’t answer for a long moment, he pressed, “All right?”

“...All right,” Corrin managed in a grudging whisper.

Leo sighed again. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Now, I’ve got to go sort out these prisoners before Father summons us. Elise, you’ll stay with her?”

Elise nodded hard enough for her twintails to bob.

Leo hesitated for a moment, then wrapped one arm around Corrin’s shoulders, pressing his cheek to her forehead for the barest second before striding from the room.

~~~

“My, bringing criminals of ill repute to shelter in milord’s bathroom,” Niles said dryly. “If _that_ doesn’t bring on the nostalgia.”

Odin ignored him—he’d heard by then that Niles had spent most of his early days in Castle Krakenburg hiding out in Leo’s bathroom—too focused on the churning thoughts on the unconscious figure in his fellow retainer’s grasp.

_Kaze._

How it had happened, he hadn’t a clue—the last time he’d seen the ninja had been in the tunnel under Windmire, and yet somehow in the intervening days Kaze had ended up a prisoner in Krakenburg.

Odin settled his own burden on the floor of Leo’s bathroom just as the woman began to groan and stir. Her eyes regarded him for a moment, her body tense and still as she evidently decided not to risk attacking him. Odin shot a sideways glance at Kaze, finding the ninja’s eyes now half-open. They met gazes for a second, Odin’s own surely betraying a thousand questions that couldn’t be voiced with Niles in the room.

“You all right there, Odin?” Niles asked. “You’re awfully quiet, which is a bit alarming from you.”

“Of course I am quite fine, friend Niles!” Odin answered automatically, sitting back on his heels for a moment before he stood properly. “I merely… find myself in awe of our liege’s masterminded plots!”

“...Mmhmm,” Niles said, leaning back against the door to regard the two prisoners.

“Er…” Odin said after a moment, wracking his brain. He needed to talk to Kaze, at least for a minute, and he couldn’t do that unless… “Hmm?” he said, thinking quickly. “Did you hear that?”

Niles lifted a brow. “Hear what?”

“It sounded like someone was at the door,” Odin said, pointedly craning his neck as if he could see through the bathroom wall.

Niles’s brow raised higher, though he obligingly ducked out to check. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, Odin bent at Kaze’s side.

“What happened?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Kaze murmured. “Got picked up by the border guard.”

Odin felt himself pale. “You’re the two prisoners from Diabola?”

Kaze nodded almost imperceptibly. “Your secrets are still safe.”

Odin’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

To the other side, the woman let out a tsk. “We’re not friends,” she said flatly. “I wouldn’t have been caught if _he_ hadn’t put the patrol on double march. I am Rinkah, daughter of the Flame Tribe’s honorable chieftain. And _you_ two know each other?”

A murmur came from the side of the door, revealing Leo’s arrival before Odin could answer. He resisted the urge to swear under his breath.

“Your princess,” Kaze said quickly. “The one who stepped in on our behalf… I’ve seen pictures of her, in Hoshido… from before…”

Odin hardly dared to breathe. Leo and Niles’s footsteps sounded just outside the bathroom door.

“That was her, wasn’t it?” Kaze whispered.

Odin scarcely had time to nod before his liege appeared, looking far from enthusiastic about the circumstances.

“Listen well,” Leo said, crossing his arms as he addressed the two prisoners. “It is only my sister’s kind heart that has bought you your freedom. Niles will escort you outside of the castle grounds. Disappear now and never return, lest you be spotted by our king.”

“Tch,” Rinkah said again. “I am not a hostage to be freed. When next we meet, Prince of Nohr, I will make you pay for this humiliation.”

Leo didn’t deign to rise to the bait. “Do not make me regret my generosity,” he said flatly. “I still have time to rescind it.” He squared his shoulders. “Niles, get them out of here.”

Niles beckoned with a worrying smirk, leaving Odin only to wonder if he would ever catch a glimpse of his erstwhile Hoshidan friend again.

He wondered how quickly he could find Laslow and Selena.


	40. Dead of Night (Part 3) Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hollow life, new rebirth, set forth a soldier consumed by the earth,  
>  Burdened down, last to die, laden with monstrous souls deep inside,  
> Sacrificed into flame, now fed as kindling they all burn the same,  
> With warmth to stave off the end, I'll quench the cinder's desire to let there be fire again..._

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 6, 636**

Despite all the years he’d longed to see it, there was something profoundly _wrong_ about the sight of Corrin kneeling at Garon’s throne.

“I see you have made it here safely, Corrin,” Garon said in familiarly imperious tones.

“I have, Father,” she said with a steadiness that revealed she’d practiced her lines. “Long have I wished to see you and visit Castle Krakenburg again.”

“It is only thanks to your diligence that you are here,” said Garon. “I am told you are now a warrior almost on par with Xander. The strength of your draconic lineage has finally been cultivated enough that you may leave the barrier of your fortress, as I knew someday it would. One who learns to wield such divine strength will conquer those who oppose them with ease. Xander, Camilla, and Leo have already shown that they have command of this power. I expect no less from you.”

“I understand your expectations, Father,” Corrin answered, while Leo thought of Dragon Veins and trees and Cheve’s border wall in ruins. “And I have trained every day to be more like my siblings.”

“So I have been told,” Garon said. “And yet I have been informed that no sooner did you arrive here than did you attempt to interfere with the running of the palace guard.”

Still kneeling, Corrin looked up sharply, Xander and Camilla behind her both straightening. Leo, meanwhile, clenched his hands behind his back. _So the upstart little guard had told anyway…_

“I’m—I’m sorry, Father,” Corrin said, her voice quickly losing its measured tones. “It’s only that—I thought maybe I could help—”

“To aid our enemies is to betray ourselves,” Garon said. “Is that what you wish, child?”

Corrin winced, her face flushing red, her mouth opening soundlessly. _Dusk Dragon, she can’t hide anything,_ Leo thought, stepping forward.

“With all due respect, Father,” Leo said in familiar, measured tones, “Corrin is not exactly acquainted with the runnings of Krakenburg—or Nohr as a whole, for that matter. Perhaps my siblings and I have been remiss in our attempts to prepare her, but after today’s events I’ve already endeavored to correct her. I can assure you she won’t repeat such a misstep.”

Corrin shot him a sideways glance— _gods,_ but it galled him to speak of her like she was a misbehaving pet—but wisely enough, she stayed silent and merely nodded.

For a terrible moment, Garon regarded them both. Leo stood straight, keeping the proper steel of a prince and a knight in his spine even when it threatened to waver. None of the other three dared to interject, evidently too wary of their words upsetting the delicate balance that was the king’s temper.

“Perhaps,” Garon finally said, smoothing a hand over his chin. “Perhaps.” His eyes narrowed. “As you are my child, Corrin, I will grant you some leeway. If you are so lacking in knowledge, we will endeavor to correct the deficiency. I have something in mind for you. If you complete this mission successfully, I will forgive your mistake in full.”

Corrin looked up again. “What sort of mission?” she asked, while Leo fought back the bile in his throat and thought of far too many _missions_ he’d endured.

“There is an abandoned outpost on the Hoshidan side of the border. I wish to know if the building there remains serviceable. You are to travel to the site and inspect the premises. No battle will be required. Do you understand? I won’t tolerate being disappointed twice…”

“Yes, Father,” Corrin answered. “I’ll get it done.”

Garon nodded. “You show promise, child. But you will need a suitable weapon in order to serve Nohr. Iago!”

Slinking out of the shadows as he always did, Iago appeared, an unfamiliar sword grasped in his hands. He ducked his head as he paused in front of Corrin, while Leo reluctantly stepped aside. She evidently caught Xander’s gesture that she ought to stand to receive the blade and scrambled to her feet.

“This is Ganglari,” Garon continued. “With this sword at your side, you will crush your enemies with ease. I trust you will put it to the proper use. You are dismissed.”

Corrin mumbled a thank you, fumbling to hang the sword from her waist for a moment before evidently giving up, bowing, and heading for the door.

Leo frowned as the rest of them fell in step behind her. _Ganglari._ What sort of name was that? And what sort of _blade_ was it? It wasn’t one he’d ever heard of—nothing with the history of Siegfried, Brynhildr, or even Garon’s own Bolverk.

“What happened earlier?” Xander murmured, leaning toward Leo and dragging him out of his pondering.

Leo shook his head, falling back slightly. “She had a bit too much heart for a couple of prisoners we crossed paths with,” he whispered back. “I stepped in.”

Xander frowned, then nodded. Leo pointedly did not mention just _how_ he’d stepped in—he doubted his elder brother would approve of the fact that Leo’s own heart had been soft enough to spare their lives. Too late now to regret that, after all.

“Here, darling, like this,” Camilla said, tugging Ganglari’s sword belt around Corrin’s waist as the younger princess fumbled with fastening it again. “There we are, just like that. Oh, dear Corrin, are you sure you’re going to be okay out there? I don’t like this…”

Corrin, however, merely beamed, the brightness returning to her outside of the king’s presence. “Of course! It’s just an abandoned fort, right?”

 _On the Hoshidan side of the border,_ Leo thought to himself. If anyone caught her there… “You’re acting rather casual about all this, Corrin.”

“Hey!” Elise interjected, rocking onto her tiptoes to fix Leo with a glare. “Don’t be so worried all the time, _sheesh._ And don’t even try to scare Corrin before her first mission!” She whacked at the back of his head with far more force than he’d expected, leaving him stumbling slightly and shooting her a sulking glare.

“Hey! Was that necessary?”

“Now, now,” Camilla chided. “No need to fret, you two. I’ll simply go along with Corrin and ensure everything runs smoothly.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Iago’s too-smooth voice interjected. Leo resisted the urge to flinch and give the sorcerer the satisfaction.

Camilla turned a slightly too icy smile in Iago’s directions. “And why is that, exactly?”

“Your Highness,” Iago answered with deference, “His Majesty intends this mission as a test of sorts. He would like to know just how worthy Princess Corrin is… after all, she is a member of the royal line. Your assistance would simply muddle the results.”

Another shiver of _wrong_ went up Leo’s spine—he’d spent two years accompanying Xander on missions before he’d been granted anything solo, and Corrin was to tackle her first alone? Granted, Leo had only been fourteen to her nineteen… yet she seemed to be even more sheltered at nineteen than he’d been at fourteen.

“I understand,” Corrin said. “I need to do this by myself.”

A thin smirk came to Iago’s lips. “Not all by yourself,” he said. “Of course not. You won’t be completely defenseless. Your new retainers will be joining you, as will old Sir Gunter. In addition, so will Hans.”

 _Hans._ A faint tingle rose to Leo’s fingertips, bringing with it the urge to slam Iago into the wall as he’d done some months ago. _Hans,_ of all people.

Leo knew Hans far too well to want him anywhere near Corrin. He could only hope Gunter, Silas, and Jakob would be enough of a barrier between them.

“You’ll leave tomorrow morning, Your Highness,” Iago said, bowing to Corrin. “Best of luck on your trip.” With that, he took his leave.

No one spoke again until he was clearly gone. Finally, Xander shook his head. “I would watch yourself if I were you, Corrin.”

“Why do you say that, Xander?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Hans is a scoundrel,” Xander said flatly. “I arrested him myself, years ago. Father seems to think he’s rehabilitated, but I’m not so sure.” He shook his head. “That said, he is a formidable soldier, should you run into trouble.”

“I understand,” Corrin said. With her face still too bright for the circumstances, she fixed them all with a grin. “I guess I should go get ready, huh? I mean… my first mission! I gotta be prepared for anything!”

Leo wished he could share her enthusiasm.

~~~

**Astral Plane—June 6, 636**

Selena’s especially eloquent string of curse words seemed to speak for all of them, as no one added anything for several moments.

Laslow blew out a breath, having to turn his head slightly as the bright setting sun shone still over the walls of the Astral Plane. Odin had insisted on finding Lilith and having their discussion in the private dimension, too worried about the walls having ears in even the darkest and most abandoned depths of Krakenburg.

That had been worrying enough, but Laslow hadn’t expected _this._

“So,” he finally said, trading wary glances with the other three. “Kaze’s… what? Just completely blown?”

Odin shrugged. “Lord Leo warned him not to return,” he said. “And that’s assuming they actually _do_ make it out of the country this time. If he _does_ decide to risk it again, he might have to take an entirely different path now… come up through Nestra, maybe. The Chevois border might be lax enough for him to get through… but who knows how long that would even take. It was taking him weeks to get back and forth as it was.”

“So we might have to just count him as a lost cause,” Selena said flatly. “Gods dammit. It was nice getting intel on the other side.”

“Nice, but ultimately unnecessary,” Lilith said. She’d known of Kaze, even if she’d never been able to get away from the Northern Fortress long enough to actually meet him. “Our priorities would have had to shift anyway, now that Lady Corrin is free.”

“You don’t have to sound so callous about it,” Laslow said, lifting a brow in her direction. He’d rather liked Kaze—could have counted him a friend someday, if their circles and their missions hadn’t forced them to be so disparate.

Lilith merely shrugged. “She has to be our priority if we’re to manage this,” she said. “That’s the simple fact of it. If others fall along the way…”

“She’s got a point,” Selena said.

Laslow glanced away again. So she was right, to some extent. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Speaking of,” Lilith continued. “I’ll be joining her on her trip to the Bottomless Canyon, to care for the camp and the horses. She won’t be alone.”

A beat passed. “So will Selena and I, to an extent,” Odin admitted.

“Thought the royal siblings weren’t allowed to come?” Laslow pointed out.

“Well, yes,” Odin said. “However… my dark liege is rather unappreciative of such a directive, and also rather prone to bending the rules to suit his preferences… He plans to make a trip to Diabola which may or may not conveniently put him along the same path.”

“Yeah, and Lady Camilla’s coming along,” Selena said. “I haven’t heard anything from Effie or Arthur but I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Elise did too. You know how they all feel about Lady Corrin.”

“Hmph,” Laslow said. “You’re all so lucky to have lieges with ethics and principles.” Selena stifled a snort of laughter. “Do you suppose that if you, like, kidnapped me, that Lord Xander wouldn’t be mad? Since I technically did not disobey him of my own free will…?” He sighed. “Ah, who am I kidding…”

Odin, very unkindly, laughed at him. Laslow rolled his eyes.

“Lord Xander isn’t exactly happy that Hans is going with her, either,” Laslow admitted. “He’ll probably turn a blind eye to the Diabolan excursion, at least. So that’s good.”

 _“Hans?”_ Selena said. “What for?”

Laslow shrugged. “Iago. What else?”

“Touche,” she admitted. “But also, ew.”

Odin sighed. “I don’t like this.”

“You and me both,” Laslow admitted.

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 6, 636**

They arrived back early enough to catch the trail end of the retainers’ meal, thanks to Lilith’s meddling, and then shortly split ways—the retainers tended to eat at the same time as their lieges, while those of Lilith’s station had a while more to wait. The meal was far from the elevated standard the royalty upstairs were being served, but it was always fresh and filling, which meant Laslow couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

Even at the single long table where they gathered, the space usually divided up into cliques. Effie and Arthur ate together; Niles settled himself in a far corner with every exit visible to him; Laslow, Odin, and Selena took up another corner to themselves. Beruka never ate with them, leaving Laslow to occasionally wonder if she ever actually ate at all.

Now, though, with three new faces in the mix, the entire balance had been upset. Peri had parked herself in Odin’s usual spot beside Laslow, leaving Odin to resettle himself across the table with a grumble. Jakob had taken Niles’s seat and, Laslow was fairly sure, had nearly been murdered for such a grave offense. Silas seemed to have taken pity on Laslow’s predicament and had taken the seat on the other side of Peri, though he hadn’t done much to steer the conversation.

“Man, I wish I was going on Lady Corrin’s trip!” Peri said, a distinctive pout on her lips as she poked at her dinner. “I wanna go kick some Hoshidan butt! Don’t you, Lazzy?”

“The fort’s abandoned, Peri,” Silas said gently, thankfully saving Laslow from answering. “We shouldn’t have to kick anyone’s butt. We’re just going to go look at it.”

“Aww, c’mon, but what kind of a mission is _that?”_ Peri asked. “She should have to go… cut out a wyvern’s heart! Or steal Queen Mikoto’s scepter! Or burn down a temple full of evil monks! Something _interesting!_ That’s what I’d have her do!”

“All dragons bless us that you are not our monarch then,” Jakob muttered under his breath.

 _“Hey!”_ Peri snapped. “Don’t talk to me like that! You’re just a _butler!”_

“Actually, he’s just a _retainer,”_ Niles drawled. “As are you, girlie. We’re all equals here. Jakob is perfectly free to voice whatever filthy little thoughts cross his mind.”

Jakob blew out a snort. “As impeccably evidenced by your perpetual uncouthness, Niles.”

“Aww, what’s the matter? Does my dirty mouth hit a little too close to home? I only say what we’re all thinking. Just embrace how you feel, Jakob, and the world will become a far more pleasurable place—”

“I’d sooner chop off my hand than listen to half the things you say, honestly, Niles,” Jakob said primly, neatly spearing a bit of potato on his fork. “No less be forced to think critically about them.”

“Oho, that’s right, because steam will start coming out your ears when you do that, hm?”

Jakob indeed did turn a little red at that, his tines impacting the plate with a little more force than necessary.

“Gawds,” Selena grumbled. “I’d chop off your hands myself if it’d get both of you to shut up.”

“Aren’t the sacrifices intended to be a bit more personal in such an idiom, Selena…?” Odin ventured. “You aren’t exactly giving up much to chop off other people’s hands…”

“Well, _duh,”_ Selena said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not about to give up _my_ hands. What are you, stupid?”

“I’m just pointing out,” Odin grumbled.

“For all your constant purple prose, metaphors aren’t always your strong suit, my friend,” Laslow pointed out.

A long beat dragged out before Silas cleared his throat. “Uh, but anyways. I guess it doesn’t really matter—Lord Leo!”

Silverware clattered as chairs were hurriedly pushed back, the entire company of retainers scrambling to stand in deference. Leo leaned slightly against the arched stone doorway, pausing for a long moment before nodding in acknowledgment and saying, “As you were. Laslow, if I may speak to you for a moment?”

Laslow’s brow furrowed slightly as he nodded, receiving silent looks of offense from both Odin and Niles. He couldn’t quite blame them; what on earth would Leo want _him_ for over his own retainers?

“You gonna finish that?” Effie called after him, plainly eyeing his plate.

Laslow glanced back, burying a sigh as he looked over at his last few bites. “Have at it, Effie.”

She called her thanks to him as he followed Leo out.

“I didn’t intend to borrow you for long,” Leo said after a moment.

Laslow merely shrugged. “With all due respect, milord, I assumed you were all still eating.”

“We just finished,” Leo answered. “We’ll be spending the rest of the evening with Corrin, but in the meantime I had a favor to ask of you.”

“Sure,” Laslow said, still trying to figure out why Leo would ask him over Odin or Niles.

A beat passed before Leo spoke, though, the prince tilting his head and letting out a soft sigh. “Niles, don’t even pretend you didn’t follow.”

A chuckle came from the shadows. “Guilty as charged, milord,” Niles said. “I assume you’ll forgive my jealousy over bringing Laslow on such a tryst…?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “There’s no need for _jealousy,”_ he said. “It’s merely a favor I believe Laslow would find easier to fulfill than you would. You’re aware of Corrin’s mission, I presume?”

“I am,” Laslow said. “Word gets around rather quickly down here, milord.”

Leo nodded. “I’m sure it does. Anyway, she leaves in the morning. Camilla, Elise, and I will also be leaving in the morning, for reasons _entirely_ unrelated. I was hoping you would be able to pack for Xander for, say, a week, in case he wishes to join us.”

“Ah,” said Laslow. “And may I assume that this unrelated journey would, of course, take you nowhere near the Bottomless Canyon for any reason whatsoever…?”

“Of course not,” Leo said, his mock offense betrayed by the edges of a smirk. “Just what do you take me for?”

Laslow let a smirk of his own tug on his lips. “Lord Leo,” he said, “have I ever mentioned that sometimes I _really_ like the way you think?”

~~~

**Castle Krakenburg, Windmire, Nohr—June 7, 636**

Despite the earliness of the hour, Corrin felt as though her very blood was buzzing in her veins. Silas stood in the courtyard with Catnap, Gunter with his old destrier Elliot, Jakob with the grumpy chestnut Forman. Lilith hung back a little, holding both Poker and her own mare Rabi, while Corrin had yet to see Hans.

“Oh, Corrin, _darling,”_ Camilla said, pulling Corrin into her familiar embrace. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“I’ll be fine, Camilla,” Corrin mumbled, hoping her sister could even hear the words. “And I’ll be back before you even know it!”

“You better be!” Elise said, propping her hands on her hips as Camilla finally released Corrin from her grasp. “Because I’m gonna miss you soooo much!”

“I’ll miss you too, Elise,” Corrin said, then laughed as the younger princess proceeded to hang off Corrin as well. “Oh, I wish you were coming with me!”

“You’ll do well, little princess,” Xander said. “Just keep your eyes open and remember what you’ve learned.”

“I will, Xander!”

She turned at last to her final sibling. “Leo?” she said softly.

He didn’t move from his spot—stiff and proper as always—but the faintest hint of a smile warmed his features. “Corrin.”

Corrin shook her head, stepping lightly in her too-tight boots that she evidently _had_ to wear now. “Don’t worry about me,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck and finding him as warm and solid as always. “Too much.”

“Don’t give me reason to worry,” Leo grumbled, though his words held no vitriol. Corrin squeezed him one final time before stepping back.

“I’ll be home soon,” she promised. “Sooner than you know, all right? And then…” She paused, shooting Leo another look and mouthing _Cyrkensia?_

Leo didn’t answer, but his smile widened a little more. Her heart skipped a beat.

With one final glance backward, Corrin swung into Poker’s saddle and prepared herself for the beginning.

~~~

“And just where are you two going?”

“Going?” Leo asked innocently, lowering his stirrup before peering around Hati. “Didn’t anyone tell you we were making a trip, Xander? And it’s the three of us, by the way, Camilla is still readying Marzia.”

“A trip,” Xander echoed flatly, glancing between Leo and Elise’s equally guiltless expressions. “A trip to _where,_ exactly?”

“Well, you see,” Leo said, moving to stand once more at Hati’s head, “Gisela’s been asking me for months to bring Camilla and Elise out. Something about feminine bonding or the like, I think; I don’t pretend to know. Now seems to be as good a time as any.”

Xander raised a brow. “And the fact that this would put you about three hours behind Corrin on her exact path is merely coincidence.”

“Yes, coincidence!” Leo said. “Exactly the correct word. Although, for the record, I’m sure she won’t be riding hard at all. It would be no trouble at all to make up those three hours over the next three days. If anyone were so inclined, that is.”

Xander let out a familiarly exasperated sigh. “Leo, Father expressly forbade us from joining Corrin.”

“But we’re _not_ joining her!” Elise said, peering out from behind Freddy. “We’re just gonna… keep an eye on her! From a distance! That’s not breaking the rules!”

“Perhaps not technically,” Xander admitted, “but it does seem near enough to count.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not worried about her,” Leo said flatly. “Because I know you are.”

Xander shook his head. “I cannot say I’m not,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that we ought to go around flaunting Father’s directives…”

“Father never said we weren’t allowed to visit Diabola while Corrin was away, did he?” Leo asked. Then, glancing up as the familiar shadow a wyvern crossed overhead, he added, “Oh, look, there’s Camilla.”

“Leo, I cannot advise this.”

“Duly noted,” Leo answered. “Do you want to come along, though? With things as they are it looks as if I’m about to be severely outnumbered by girls and I’d appreciate the backup.”

Xander shook his head again. “The fact that you’re considering this…”

Leo lowered his voice. “Because this entire situation stinks like a Nestran fish market,” he said. “You know it as well as I do. If nothing happens, Corrin will never know we were there. And if something _does_ happen…”

Finally, Xander said, “You’re right.”

Leo brightened. “Yes, I know,” he said. “Which is why I asked Laslow to pack for you. He should have Skoll just about ready.” He turned, vaulting up into Hati’s saddle. “Don’t take too long, brother. We do have a ferry to catch.”

~~~

**Bottomless Canyon, Nohr—June 10, 636**

The most horrific screeching she’d ever heard woke Corrin from a dead sleep, leaving her to do little more than fling a cloak over her shoulders and snatch up Ganglari before bursting from her tent.

To her surprise, though, none of her four companions moved beyond looking up at her dramatic entrance. Jakob was tending the fire, Silas and Lilith over by the horses, Gunter watching the horizon, and Hans sitting on the ground with a long-bladed knife in his lap. Corrin paused for a long moment, her heart still pounding, before she finally asked, “What was _that?”_

“Wyverns, milady,” Gunter answered, turning a kind smile on her. “It’s their nesting season.”

“Oh,” she managed as the throaty, draconic cry sounded again. She shivered. “Is it… are we safe?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Silas exclaimed as Catnap flung himself back against his ties, eyes wide and rimmed in fearful white. “Easy, boy!”

“Safe enough,” Gunter answered with a sidelong glance. “Though the horses aren’t terribly happy about it. It may be better to continue on foot today; we haven’t far to go.”

“Oh,” Corrin said again. “I guess so, yeah.” She settled herself a short distance away from Hans, eyeing him as he rubbed some thin, clear liquid into his blade with a cloth. “Er… what are you doing?”

“Sap from the dragon’s bane plant,” Hans explained flatly. “Poison to anything with dragon blood. Just in case these wyverns get too close.”

“It’s how they make wyrmslayers, milady,” Gunter added. “Take care not to touch it; you’ll be allergic to it as well.”

Corrin scooted away. She’d read terrible things about wyrmslayers—how one blow could kill a full-grown bull wyvern inside a week if the poison was left untreated—and she had no desire to see how it would interact with her own royal dragon blood. Hans smirked a little at her retreat, leaving her swallowing.

“If you plan on leaving the horses, someone needs to stay with them,” Lilith pointed out, striding back to the camp. “That is if you want any horses left to return to.”

“Indeed, Lilith,” Gunter said. “I don’t think any of us wish to walk back to the Tiefgrund from here. Can I assume you’re volunteering?”

Lilith opened her mouth as if she were about to protest, then closed it again. “Sure,” she finally said, her voice clipped. “That’s fine.”

“What, by herself?” Hans scoffed, holding his newly-poisoned blade up for inspection. “We won’t have horses left if she gets eaten, either.”

“I’m not going to get _eaten,”_ Lilith protested, giving Hans a wary side-eye.

“I’m sure you won’t, Lilith,” Gunter said, “but Hans does have a point. I don’t wish to leave you here without backup. Silas? Would you be willing to stay?”

Silas paused as he, too, made his way toward the fire, still giving an anxious glance back at their mounts. “Uh, sure?” he said. “You don’t want me to come with you?”

“We won’t be long,” said Gunter. “I’d much prefer to know we’ll still have a way to ride back when we’re done.”

“Guess so, then,” Silas said with a shrug.

 _“Thanks, Jakob,”_ Corrin mouthed as Jakob deposited a cracked traveling plate full of toast and sausages in her hands. She sipped at the tea tentatively—they hadn’t brought cream and she hadn’t realized their supply of sugar was so small until she’d finished it, so the drink wasn’t quite to her usual tastes, but she appreciated the warmth.

“Isn’t this Her Highness’s mission?” Hans pointed out, a tad snidely. “Shouldn’t that decision be up to her?”

“Oh,” Corrin said, feeling her face flush. “But, um… Gunter’s right, though. So I guess I don’t have a problem with it…”

Hans shrugged, clicked his tongue, and moved on to poisoning a throwing knife.

~~~

On foot, it took Corrin, Gunter, Jakob, and Hans about an hour to reach the Bottomless Canyon.

Nothing in her geography books had prepared her in the slightest.

“This… is…” Corrin began, both wanting to get closer to peer at the edge and to run as far away from the incredible gorge as quickly as she could. Rain pounded at her, seeping through her cloak wherever it could, but the sensation fell to the distant background in comparison. “It can’t _really_ be bottomless, can it?”

“Let the eternal darkness below be your answer,” Gunter answered. “Those who fall never return.”

Corrin swallowed and exchanged a glance with Jakob, who did little more than roll his eyes.

“I truly despise this place,” Gunter admitted. “Something about the land around here just isn’t right… They say this storm never ends, and lightning strikes those who fly across.” As if to punctuate his words, the sky lit up and immediately rumbled at his words. “This is clearly a place us mortals were never meant to enter… But the fort His Majesty wants surveyed is just over there, so I suppose at least we won’t be here long.”

“Dramatic old man,” Jakob grumbled.

“Oh, it’s not so bad!” Corrin said, half-hopping over an inconvenient puddle. “But maybe I’m just happy to be outside in the fresh air! Compared to the fortress, this is downright exciting!”

Gunter chuckled indulgently. “That certainly puts things in perspective, milady. Although I admit I must ask if we can press on.”

“All right, all right!” Corrin said, lifting a hand above her brow to shield her gaze as she regarded the shadowed fort across the way. “I guess we’ll have to cross to get a proper look at it, huh?” She adjusted her path, aiming for a rope bridge across the canyon that swung slightly in the wind. _This… might be interesting,_ she thought.

No sooner had she stepped foot on the swaying boards, though, did Jakob catch her arm with a sharp _“Milady!”_

Corrin glanced at him, puzzled, then across the bridge at the flickering lantern light that had appeared.

 _“Hold!”_ one of the figures emerging from the fort shouted. “Do not advance any farther, soldiers of Nohr!”

“Blast!” Gunter muttered. “Why the devil is this place crawling with Hoshidans?”

“Crossing that bridge is a violation of our border treaty!” the Hoshidan soldier continued. “Turn back at once, or we’ll be forced to attack!”

“Oh,” Corrin whispered, taking an automatic step off the bridge. She glanced at Gunter, finding the old knight only staring at her expectantly. _Her mission. Right._ “Um… We’re not here to fight,” she reasoned aloud. “So I suppose we should just turn back and tell Father.”

After a beat, Gunter nodded. “Wise decision, milady.”

A derisive laugh was the only warning she had before Hans shoved past her hard enough to make her stumble, hurling one of his poisoned blades with such effortless force it seemed to fly across the bridge before embedding itself in the lead Hoshidan soldier’s chest.

The most blood-curdling sound Corrin had ever heard escaped him and she scarcely kept from echoing it herself.

 _“You’ll pay for this!”_ another soldier shouted, leaving Hans to only laugh and reach for another weapon as he strode across the bridge.

“What are you _doing?”_ Corrin cried. “We weren’t sent here to fight!”

“Speak for yourself!” he shouted back—moments before a Hoshidan arrow missed his ear by inches.

 _“Soldiers of Hoshido!_ Don’t leave a single one of them alive!”

Gunter growled a curse under his breath, unbuckling his lance from his back. “Looks like there’s no getting out of this now. Lady Corrin, Jakob?”

Despite the bile rising in her throat, Corrin forced herself to nod, reaching for Ganglari’s hilt. _I don’t want to fight I don’t want to fight—_

“Those arrows will be the death of us if we try to cross,” Jakob grumbled. “Suggest leaving Hans for a distraction for getting us into this damn mess and finding another way around?”

“I agree,” Gunter said darkly. “Blasted idiot. Lady Corrin, I don’t suppose we might be so lucky that you could find us a Dragon Vein?”

“...Dragon Vein?” Corrin managed weakly. _Dragon Veins. Right._ Leo had described to her in detail once just what they felt like, and pointed one specifically out to her when they’d crossed over it as he returned her to the Northern Fortress the night he’d broken her out. Hazy as the end of that night had been, she remembered the feeling enough to search for it now. “Yeah,” she managed. “I think there is.”

_And now I just have to figure out how they work… preferably as fast as possible._

She followed the sensation slightly south, finding the tingling in her feet grew stronger by the moment. When she reached the peak of it, the experimental sort of mental stretch she gave made the rocks beneath her feet tremble. With a deep breath, she stretched them out until they met the other side.

The euphoria of her success lasted until they crossed, obscured by the fog, and chaos fell upon them.

Somewhere far above, a wyvern screamed.

Ganglari felt terribly wrong in her hands, not balanced or weighted like she was used to. Corrin’s blunt disarm didn’t hit quite right, leaving her foe weaponless and kneeling but far from defenseless.

“Do you even realize what you’ve done here today?” he shouted. “Hoshido won’t stand for unprovoked attacks like this! Revenge will be ours!”

Then, disconcertingly, he smirked.

Corrin turned to see the arrow pointed at her head.

_“I won’t allow it!”_

Then, like so many nights ago in the woods around the Northern Fortress, Siegfried’s dark glow burst through the mist, felling the archer where he stood.

“Xander!” she cried, fighting the urge to fall to her knees in relief. Her elder brother crossed the stone bridge, even mild Skoll’s ears slightly pinned at the battle ahead. “How did you know we were in trouble?”

“We had a hunch,” came the answer, but not from Xander—Leo crossed as well to the clatter of Hati’s hooves, both his and Xander’s retainers hot on his heels. “You really do have the devil’s own luck, you know?” With a careless toss of his hand, a burst of light shot from Brynhildr to drop two enemy soldiers.

Corrin had the sinking feeling that this time his blow hadn’t been nonlethal.

“We’re all here for you, Corrin!” Elise shouted. She was on her own feet rather than mounted, either due to Freddy’s nervous disposition or to make herself less of a target, Corrin wasn’t sure.

“Elise, stay back!” Xander shouted. “Corrin, you’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine!” Corrin said. _It’s okay. It’s fine. Everything’s all right now._ She just hoped her siblings wouldn’t get in trouble for following her.

With a swoop of shadowed wings, Camilla and Marzia dropped from the sky, the wyvern snatching up a soldier in her claws before rocketing skyward again. “Reinforcements coming from the south!” Camilla shouted as her mount thrashed the hapless Hoshidan.

“It’s all right now, milady,” said Laslow, inadvertently echoing Corrin’s own thoughts, leaning slightly out of his saddle as he moved to flank Xander. She forced herself to paste on a smile that mirrored his.

Leo, meanwhile, bit out a curse and shielded his gaze. “Gunter, Jakob, take Corrin and get out of here. Niles, Odin, go along. Take the other bridge—I’m pretty sure Hans is dead but the way looks clear.”

“Leo, I can stay—” Corrin protested.

“Leo’s right, Corrin,” said Xander. “Go! Stay with Elise. We won’t be far behind.”

“Come on, milady,” Gunter said, taking a hold of her elbow.

“I can still fight—”

“And they’ll be distracted protecting you,” Gunter cut in. “Milady, let’s _go.”_

Corrin forced herself to fall silent and follow. Dubs and Rommie moved to flank them.

They’d scarcely made it to the bridge when Odin froze, turning his head toward deeper Hoshido. “Looks like our foes aren’t just coming from the south.”

Niles swore, shifting his bow and squinting into the rain. “These guys are far more prepared than they have any right to be.”

“Can you hold them off?” Gunter asked. “I’ll take Lady Corrin back to Nohr.”

“We’d better,” said Niles. “Or Lord Leo’s about to be fighting two fronts. Jakob, run along and tell them we’ve got more company, would you—Odin, _where are you going?”_

“Let us provide cover to our dark liege, friend Niles, lest he be caught unaware—”

Niles swore again and sent Dubs off after Odin.

Hating that their company had scattered so far and so quickly, Corrin swallowed hard and pushed on with Gunter.

“Let’s hurry and meet up with your sister,” the old knight said in a low tone. “I can’t stand to be on this bridge a moment longer.”

“Don’t worry,” a new voice interjected. “You won’t be standing there much longer.”

“Hans!” Corrin shouted. _So Leo was wrong…_ Hans looked fine, so why had he—

“What is the _meaning_ of this, Hans?” Gunter snapped, striding forward. “Explain yourself!”

Hans’s only answer was to loose his axe, bringing it up in a wide swing—

Gunter stepped sideways, his own lance coming up—

The board under his feet went out with a sickening snap—

And Corrin’s last glimpse of her friend, her mentor, her most constant teacher, was to see him teetering over the brink of the Bottomless Canyon before it swallowed him whole.

_“GUNTER!”_

The world sharpened into sickening clarity, swirling in black and red and some color she had no name for as she shook.

 _“What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Why did you provoke them?_ This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t—if you hadn’t killed them and started this—”

“They’re just _Hoshidans,”_ Hans snarled back. “Hardly people at all. I did the world a favor, _little princess,_ and soon enough you’ll figure that out—”

The nickname did it.

Xander’s nickname for her, warmth and comfort and love and family and everything _good_ in her life could have been wrapped up in those words, and she was shaking so hard she thought she might fall to pieces, and her family was out fighting for her because _Hans had caused this_ and _Gunter—_

She swung without thinking, stretching and bending and breaking and reforming and she _hit,_ but Ganglari had fallen to the boards below and all that struck his flesh were bare nails that ripped and tore like claws and her family _her family HOW DARE HE MY FAMILY—_

Hans stumbled, and fell, and ran, and somewhere over the ringing in her ears she heard him say something like _Freak_ but she didn’t chase, couldn’t chase, could only fall to her knees let out a burning sob.

Corrin fumbled blindly for Ganglari, knowing deep down she’d need it. That same rational part of her urged her up, insisted she couldn’t stay there, that she needed to go and find Elise.

Finally, her hands wrapped around the blade’s cold and unfeeling hilt. It was heavy, she realized distantly—too heavy, _too heavy, slipping out of her grasp—_

She clung, too much, realizing too late the blade was sliding into the abyss below.

It took her with it.


	41. Dead of Night (Part 3) Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can see you running, running, every night from the same darkness  
>  It's coming, coming, but you are not alone  
> If you just say the word, I'll be there by your side  
> You make me more, you make me superhuman..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** The second scene of this chapter (Lunifrus Canyon) contains what essentially amounts to a child coming home to an abusive parent. Please take care if you think this may bother you.
> 
> In other news.... good grief, I can't even describe everything that's gone on since I last posted. I won't even try to summarize but here I am once again.

**Bottomless Canyon—June 10, 636**

“Hold on, Lady Corrin!”

Somewhere, somehow, the blur of rocks around her slowed, then stopped with such a jerk that only then did Corrin scream. Something sharp and strong dug into her shoulders, then heaved her upward.

Fighting back the bitter taste in her throat, Corrin dared look up, the grumbling storm clouds above coming back into view over the canyon’s crack.

It was the… _creature_ above her that quickly drew her attention, though. It was at once both familiar and unrecognizable, smooth-skinned and brightly colored even in the dark storm. Corrin could just see the underside of a pointed chin from her vantage as the creature lifted her ever-higher.

“I’ve got you,” it said. “It’s okay.”

Corrin shuddered, forcing herself not to flail and make it harder on her rescuer. The voice, though—it was more melodic, somehow more lilting than Corrin was used to, but she _knew_ it as much as she knew the red and blue coloring above her head.

“...Lilith?” she breathed.

With one final hoist, Lilith lifted Corrin over the edge, setting her back on the soil. Lilith turned in midair, the movement itself jerky even as her tail fluttered in the wind. “...Yes,” she answered as she settled herself on the ground facing Corrin. “It’s me. I had a feeling this day would come eventually… I suppose it’s plain to see now that I am not exactly human.”

Corrin swallowed, then reached out to touch her friend’s chin. Lilith flinched slightly, then turned her eyes up. “Are you a dragon?” Corrin asked.

“Yes,” Lilith answered again. “This is my true form. I used a lot of power to save you… I’m not sure when I’ll be able to take on the appearance of a human again. Though the important thing is that you’re safe…”

“But… aren’t dragons extinct? I mean… that’s the whole… we call our whole era ‘after dragons!’” Corrin exclaimed. “I thought that after the Dusk and Dawn Dragons died that they were all gone.”

“I wish I could explain,” Lilith said, turning away. “But I can’t risk being seen like this—even _they_ don’t know this is what I really look like—”

“They who?”

“I can’t risk it,” Lilith said again. “He’ll see, and then he’ll know—” she finished. “Lady Corrin, your sister isn’t far from here. Can you make it?”

With a piercing strike to the heart, reality stung her once more. _Gunter, her siblings, they were still fighting—_ “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I can—”

Without another word, Lilith dived into the Bottomless Canyon.

“Wait!” Corrin said. “Lilith, wait, come back—”

She froze as another flash of lightning revealed the cloaked figure ahead of her. They didn’t move, just blending once more into the black storm the moment the light faded.

 _It’s fine,_ she told herself, trying to ignore the hysteria bubbling up in her chest. _It’s fine, I’m back on the Nohrian side, so it’s probably only—_ She struggled to put a name to the figure. _It’s probably only—_

Far nearer, a voice whispered, “Sorry about this.”

And the world went black.

~~~

**Lunifrus Canyon (Canyon of the Moon), V____—June 10, 636**

She knew the moment she made it to Valla even with her eyes squeezed shut.

A bright burst of Vallite sunlight flared through Lilith’s eyelids, bringing warmth and relief from the storms above. She sucked an automatic breath into draconic lungs and found herself reveling in the sensation—it had been so, _so_ long since she’d been in this form. Human shape was necessary to blend in in Nohr, and she had too much dragon in her to switch between the two with ease. Once she’d picked one she’d had to stay with it.

Then, as if to personally spite her barest glimpse of pleasure, the familiar presence in the back of her mind roused with dark amusement.

 _“Well, well, well,”_ Anankos said with the same mental closeness that had characterized her younger years. _“If it isn’t my prodigal daughter returned.”_

Lilith hissed to the empty air, pulling out of her breakneck dive and into a more sedate hover. _“Father,”_ she snapped back, wishing she could have spoken aloud and spat the title. She had expected Anankos to reach out to her now that she was a dragon again—it was why she’d flung herself into Valla rather than the Astral Plane, so he wouldn’t glimpse the safe haven her allies had been building against him—but she hadn’t truly remembered the heavy oppressiveness of his mind against hers.

 _“Now, now, none of that, my child,”_ Anankos said. _“I’ve had quite enough petty rebellion out of you.”_ The coolness of his tone shifted to a mental snarl. _“Not when you ABANDONED me like the rest!”_

Lilith cringed under the mental onslaught, apologies bubbling up to the front of her mind before she forcibly pushed them down. _“I’m NOT sorry,”_ she shot back, landing on the ground with a wince. Lifting Corrin out of the Canyon had strained her more than she’d realized. _“And I’m NOT back for you.”_

Anankos’s only warning was a sort of _hmph_ before there was the distinctive press of his mind rifling through hers. She clamped down as best she could, but he was ages older than her—stronger, trickier, more experienced. She hissed a curse and wondered what he’d seen.

 _“So still you work against me,”_ Anankos mused. _“How unsurprising. And inconvenient. You used to be so useful to me.”_

 _Useful,_ she thought. That really _had_ been all she once was to him, hadn’t it? Memories of the other Anankos, kind and solemn, floated to the front of her mind.

She pulled up short at the still, black-armored form on the ground.

For one horrified moment, Lilith thought one of the princes had fallen. All dragons, how could she defend and explain herself to Leo or Xander? They’d think her insane, they knew nothing of Valla’s situation, and their absence would send Nohr into an uproar—

She took to the sky once more and breathed out a sigh of relief at the figure’s shock of long-grayed hair.

“Gunter!” she cried, wincing again as she alighted on the ground once more.

 _“My,”_ said Anankos. _“Did you bring a friend along? That wasn’t very wise of you.”_

Lilith huffed as Gunter blinked, sitting up slowly and regarding her with baffled eyes.

The old knight didn’t even have time to open his mouth when the violet shimmer of Vallite soldiers burst into existence.

Lilith silently cursed. “It’s Lilith. No time to explain,” she said, the words muffled over the surge of magic rising to her tongue. “Come with me!”

It was going to be, she thought as a fiery burst of magic escaped her mouth, a _very_ long few months until she could regain human form and rejoin the world above.

~~~

**Bottomless Canyon—June 10, 636**

“Xander, we’ve got to fall back! There’s another squad coming in from the east!”

 _Wrong place, wrong time, sky knights,_ Leo thought as a yank from Brynhildr brought the pegasus riders tumbling from their saddles. Really, as if flyers were anything but a joke to him at this point. Their height all but did the work for him.

Through the rain, he saw Xander nod and brandish Siegfried. “Laslow, Peri, Selena, fall back! Jakob, with us!” he added belatedly upon seeing the butler returned with his news to Leo. Somewhere above, Camilla and Beruka circled, withdrawing slightly. Leo shuddered to think of the heights of the storm _they_ were in.

Leo shot a glance toward the rope bridge, finding the path still clear and wondering how much longer it would remain so. _“Niles! Odin!”_ he shouted, though he had no clue how far his voice would carry over the storm. “Xander, I’ll meet you!”

“Leo, where are you—” Xander began, only to be drowned out by the thunder as Hati spun away and broke into a gallop.

 _That’s my boy,_ Leo thought dissonantly as he crouched against the stallion’s neck. Rain pelted at him like tiny arrows, but he didn’t have far to go before the bright, strange glow of Odin’s magic showed against the sky. With a great sweep of his own hand, Leo broke the front they battled, giving them enough room to hear him shout, “Come on! We’re leaving!”

Shouted affirmatives reached him as both Rommie and Dubs pivoted away from the battle. Another wave of Leo’s hand broke open a crack in the ground—not very deep nor wide, but enough to slow the encroaching force enough to cover a retreat.

“You sent her ahead?” Leo said, cursing as a gust of wind blew his cloak from his head, the rain almost instantly plastering his hair to his skin and quickly seeping into the cracks of his armor. “She’s safe?”

“We left Lady Corrin and Gunter at the bridge,” Niles called back.

“Then they’ll be across by now,” Leo said. “Good! Let’s go!”

No sooner had he spoken did Camilla swoop down once more. “Leo, you’ll have to take the rope bridge! Xander had to collapse the other before they followed!”

Leo signaled an affirmative, mentally cursing again as Camilla flew back up. _Following us back to Nohr? Do they want a war?_ He forcibly quashed the notion that their own presence in Hoshido was war-worthy enough and urged Hati toward the other bridge.

They made it nearly to the first plank when Hati balked, swinging his head up high enough that he missed Leo’s nose by inches. “Dammit, horse, not the time,” he muttered, despite the fact he couldn’t really blame his stallion for hesitating at the rocking bridge. The idea was enough to make _him_ sick if he let himself think about it—so he didn’t, leaping from the saddle to urge Hati from the ground. “Atta boy, there we go,” he said, fighting the tremor in his voice at the first clop of hooves on wood.

Leo dared a glance backward. Niles had dismounted as well, with the ever-anxious Dubs throwing an even worse fit at the bridge than Hati and only her bottomless trust in the archer leading her onward; Rommie, meanwhile, seemed unruffled by the bridge while _Odin_ had frozen with wide eyes.

 _“ODIN!_ Come on!” Leo shouted, twisting around as Hati’s footsteps grew more sure. Leo nearly missed the bright white crack of a freshly snapped board, feeling his stomach leap into his throat as he threw himself back against his mount’s neck, some unseen, icy hand seeming to grip his spine through all his layers. “We’ve got to go!”

Odin stared at him for a moment more, then buried his head in Rommie’s neck and urged the gelding on.

Leo nearly sank to the solid ground beneath him when he finally reached it. He managed to stay upright by leaning back on Hati’s sturdy shoulder until the other two had crossed.

“Everyone all right?” he asked, trying to force his hands not to tremble as he flung Hati’s reins back over his head. “Odin, what the hell was that?”

Odin glanced up from Rommie’s mane, a sheepish expression on his bone-white face.

“Odin’s not a fan of heights either, milord,” Niles finally said, laying a soothing hand on Dubs’s shoulder as the silence stretched out.

“I don’t like _bridges,”_ Odin corrected, but his sullen tone still sounded weak.

Leo shook his head but bit back a reprimand. He was cut from the same cloth himself, he supposed. “I’m assuming you’d like the Hoshidan army even less,” he pointed out, glancing back at the soldiers that were starting to line the eastern side of the canyon. He let Brynhildr surge, a purple glow gathering on his gauntlet—not a proper spell, but warning enough to those who might decide to cross.

The Hoshidans seemed to take the warning as intended, and dispersed.

“Well, then,” Leo said, pulling his now-soaked hood back over his head and vaulting again onto Hati’s back. “Xander?” he called as his brother’s shadow emerged through the rain. “Everyone all right? Who’s with you?”

“Laslow, Peri, Selena, and Jakob,” Xander called back. “You have Odin and Niles?”

“Yes,” Leo answered. A sigh of relief escaped him as two shadows passed overhead, accounting for both Camilla and Beruka. “Just Corrin and Elise’s group to account for.”

“They won’t be far,” Xander said, bringing Skoll to a halt by Hati. Leo nodded, trying to slow his still-racing heart as they moved back into Nohr.

The eldest prince wasn’t wrong, either—they’d scarcely gone for two minutes when Elise’s familiar face emerged from the dark, flanked by Effie and Arthur and shortly followed by Silas and a grouping of horses. Leo scanned them again on instinct. _Elise Effie Arthur Silas horses—_

And the moment it hit him was the moment Elise spoke two words that sent his entire world reeling off-kilter.

“Where’s Corrin?”

“She’s not with you?” Xander asked. He still sounded calm—mostly calm, at least, _far_ too calm actually—

“Gunter brought her back,” Leo cut in. “She’s not here?”

“No, we haven’t seen them,” Silas said, a flickering echo of the panic rising in Leo showing on his face. “We thought she was with you.”

“What about Lilith?” Laslow cut in. “Isn’t she here?”

“We were watching the horses until Lady Elise got here,” Silas said. “Then she took off—didn’t say why—”

“What do you mean, _took off?”_ Xander asked, his voice growing harder by the word.

Silas shrugged but didn’t have the chance to answer when Marzia alighted on the ground. “All right, everyone?” Camilla asked, before she made the same scan of them all and abruptly lost all color. “Where is—”

“You haven’t seen her either?” Xander asked sharply.

“She went with Gunter and now Lilith’s missing too—” Leo began before cutting off his own rapidly rising voice. _Not this, not again, I can’t do this again—_

Xander whirled Skoll, pointing the destrier back toward the canyon. “Camilla, take the north, Beruka the south—fly as high as visibility lets you. The rest of us will follow on the ground. She can’t have gotten far.”

 _He’s right,_ Leo thought, hardly listening as they swiftly split. _It’s not like she fell in a river this time, she wasn’t swept away. It’s fine. She’s fine. She probably just missed Elise in this ridiculous weather—_

He tried not to think of the fresh break in the bridge that had nearly sent him tumbling into the Bottomless Canyon himself.

~~~

**Village of Watakami, East of the Bottomless Canyon, Hoshido—June 10, 636**

Corrin blinked slowly, trying to make the world around her focus. It took several attempts, but she finally found the image coalescing into warm woods and off-white walls. _This is… odd,_ she thought, sitting up slowly and sucking in a gasp at the sudden pounding behind her eyes.

“Ah, you’re awake,” came an unfamiliar voice. “Sorry about that bump on the head.”

Corrin paused, turning a little too sharply for her aching head. “It’s okay,” she said automatically, even if she wasn’t sure it was okay at all. “Hey… You… you’re one of the prisoners my brother saved, aren’t you?”

The white-haired woman nodded. She certainly seemed _cleaner_ than she had in Krakenburg. “Yes. I am Rinkah of the Flame Tribe. You’re in Hoshido right now.”

Corrin felt the blood drain from her face. “Hoshido?” she whispered, then swallowed hard.

“I’m going to turn you over to the authorities,” Rinkah continued, her voice impossible to read. “Kaze—the man who was with me—has already sent for them.”

“Oh,” Corrin managed. “I guess they’ll want to hear an explanation for the unprovoked attack.”

“Something like that,” Rinkah continued.

 _Oh, gods,_ Corrin thought. _They’re probably going to execute me, aren’t they?_ Even if it had been Hans who had actually started the fighting, Corrin was the one ultimately responsible for it, wasn’t she? She shuddered.

“My, um,” she ventured. “My siblings. Did you capture any of them?”

Rinkah raised a brow. “Not as such,” she answered, a wryness in her voice Corrin couldn’t make sense of.

Corrin bit her lip, staring morosely into the fire that burned in the corner of the room. That was something, at least. Xander, Camilla, Leo, and Elise wouldn’t be subject to whatever her fate would be.

Before long, there was a shuffling sound outside the door, leaving Corrin to look sharply up. The door slid back rather than opening out as she expected it to, giving her a glimpse of green-haired Kaze bowing to someone just out of sight.

That someone entered a moment later, a man with such a presence Corrin went scrambling to her feet automatically. He wasn’t quite as tall as Xander—probably closer to Leo or Camilla in height—but he was definitely just as broad, his undeniable strength only emphasized by his bright crimson armor. Oddly enough, thick brown hair that had to be as long as her own streamed freely from his helmet, longer than any typical Nohrian male would have let it get.

Then again, the man wasn’t Nohrian, was he?

He froze at the sight of her, eyes going wide before some unintelligible series of syllables escaped him. Something about the words seemed familiar enough, like Corrin _should_ have known what they were, but she couldn’t force them into any semblance of sense.

“I, um,” she said, feeling her face turn hot. “I’m not sure what you’re saying, sir.”

The man’s forehead furrowed and he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice ringing in clear Nestran. She blew out a sigh— _everyone_ spoke at least a little Nestran, since it was the one language on the continent that everyone had a decent shot of communicating with. She could half remember lectures about _universal trade languages_ that Leo had given her on the subject, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. “I didn’t think… but I suppose it does make sense if you were raised in Nohr.” The man’s face turned sour.

“If this is about the border,” Corrin blurted without pausing to think through her words, “I am so, _so_ sorry, we weren’t there to fight, we never meant to engage your people—”

“It’s all right, Kamui,” he said softly, though the last was a word she didn’t know. “That’s not what this is about.”

Corrin paused. “It’s not?” she whispered. “Are you… are you not here to execute me?”

To her surprise, from the back wall Kaze chuckled. “I believe that would be the last thing Lord Ryouma intends, milady.”

Corrin could have sworn her heart stopped. “Lord Ryouma?” she breathed. “You… you’re Crown Prince Ryouma? Oh, gosh, I’m sorry—”

“High Prince, but yes,” Ryouma corrected gently. He stepped forward, a pained edge of wist in his tone as he spoke again. “I had rather hoped you’d remember me… though I suppose after all this time…” He paused just in front of her, his throat bobbing before he finished thickly, “Dawn Dragon, Kamui, it really is you.”

 _Oh,_ Corrin thought. _Oh no._ There was that word again, _Kamui—_ a name? “I’m sorry,” she blurted again. “I, uh—I think you’ve got the wrong person. My name’s Corrin. Er, Princess Corrin of Nohr, I guess, technically… You must have me mixed up with someone else…”

Ryouma froze for a moment, then let out a word so harsh she didn’t have to speak Hoshidan to know it was a curse. “Damn them. _Damn_ those Nohrians, they took that from you too?” He shook his head, then paused again as Corrin flinched. “I apologize, ah… Corrin. I suppose that was harsh.” Then, sounding as though he had to drag the words out of himself, “You really don’t remember me?”

She shook her head, then pushed her hair back behind her ears. “No, sorry,” she said. “But I don’t really get out much. I’m not sure when we would have met… I really think you have me confused with somebody else.”

Ryouma shook his head. “I would never forget you, Kamui. Never in my life.” He cleared his throat again. “We’re going back to Shirasagi. Saizou and Kagerou are arranging kinshi for us, so we ought to make it back by first watch tonight.”

Corrin blinked at that—she didn’t think Hoshido’s capital was any closer to the border than Nohr’s was, but Nohr’s mountains were far too high and treacherous to make the trip by wyvern in a matter of hours. Evidently, Hoshido didn’t have that problem.

“Rinkah, Hoshido owes a debt to the Flame Tribe for this. I cannot thank you enough,” Ryouma continued.

Rinkah merely shrugged. “Don’t get used to it,” she said frankly. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I have no intention of repeating it.”

“Nonetheless,” Ryouma said. “And Kaze… if there’s anything I could ever do to begin to repay you…”

Kaze only shook his head, dipping into a bow. “I have done nothing more than my duty to your family, milord, and it has been my honor.”

Ryouma shook his head as well, then drew his attention back to Corrin. “I’m sure this is a lot for you to take in,” he told her. “But I can assure you that no harm will come to you. Nohr cannot touch you here.”

Corrin flinched a little at that. _Nohr cannot touch me…?_ She bit her lip. Her siblings were probably tearing the Bottomless Canyon apart looking for her right now. “You mean you can’t… send me back?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Ryouma looked as if she’d slapped him. “Send you _back?”_ he asked, aghast. “Kamui, you’re finally _home.”_

 _Home?_ Home was her library, flickering in the firelight, with her shoulder pressed against Leo’s and Elise’s head in her lap, all three engrossed in whatever novels they held and only emerging from their fictional words to shoot sharp words and teasing retorts. Home was Camilla’s humming as she fitted Corrin into a new dress. Home was Xander’s stern corrections as her blade clashed against his. Home was _not_ this strange place full of strange people who had plainly mistaken her for someone else.

“I’m sorry,” Corrin choked out again, the beginnings of hot tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m really, really sorry, but I’m not who you think I am, and I’ve never been here before in my life, I’ve never even left the fortress I grew up in until a few days ago—and my siblings are going to be looking for me—”

Ryouma’s face seemed to harden by the word, though his tone was gentle when he spoke. “Kaze, Rinkah,” he said, “would you leave us for a minute?”

They both nodded, sweeping for the exit and sliding the door closed once more behind them.

Ryouma moved to settle himself on the floor, armor clanking as he went. “Sit with me, please?” he offered. “I vow to you again that we mean you no harm here.”

Corrin forced herself to nod, wiping the heel of her hand against her eyes as she lowered herself down again.

“You said you grew up in a fortress?” Ryouma asked, in the same soothing tone Camilla would have used to prod the nature of an injury Corrin had sustained in their younger years.

She nodded again. “I was sick a lot when I was a kid,” she said. “So my father—King Garon—he wanted to make sure I would be okay before I left.”

The armor of Ryouma’s gauntlets clicked a little as he clenched his fists, then again as he seemed to forcibly relax his fingers out. “And what about before you lived there?” he asked.

“I don’t remember anything before that,” Corrin admitted. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” At his pained look, she hurried to add, “But it’s okay! I wasn’t alone or anything. I have—er, I had… some really great servants…”

 _Gunter,_ she thought again, having to force back the lump in her throat before she could continue.

“And my siblings would come visit me all the time! So it wasn’t so bad.”

A silence dragged out so long she almost started to fill it again before Ryouma finally answered. “And by your siblings, you mean the Nohrian royal family?”

“Yeah,” she said. “They’re… they’re great. They’re really great. They mean everything to me.”

Ryouma shook his head, glancing away. “I’m afraid,” he said, “there’s a very good reason you don’t remember your childhood.”

“...Is there?” she asked, tilting her head.

Then, finally, “King Garon is not your father. You are the daughter of Queen Mikoto, my father’s second wife. When you were five, you were abducted by forces from Nohr. Those Nohrian children are not your siblings. _We_ are. And we’ve spent fourteen years searching for you, Kamui.”

Corrin _reeled,_ the room refusing to stay steady around her, her hands trembling as she absently moved to brush back her hair again.

“No,” she said quietly. “No, but I… Xander and Camilla and Leo and Elise are…”

“The Nohrian royals?” Ryouma said. “They’re not your real family.” He spoke flatly, like every word and every gift and every visit from them had been worthless. Like Xander hadn’t taught her everything she knew about being a warrior, like Leo hadn’t been her closest confidant since she’d been old enough to have secrets to confide, like Camilla and Elise hadn’t spent hours on end gossiping and giggling with her about everything and nothing. Ryouma reached over to lay his hand on hers for a moment. “I still remember the day you were taken, fourteen years ago. King Garon lured King Sumeragi—our father—to the territory of Cheve under false pretenses. He said it was for peaceful negotiations. _Ha!_ His real plan was to murder our father in cold blood. And to make matters worse, he kidnapped you.”

“No,” Corrin said. “That’s not possible…”

“Gods, but I wish it weren’t,” Ryouma muttered. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you that day, Kamui. I’m sorry you didn’t grow up with us you should have, as a princess of Hoshido… but you’re here now, and I swear to you our siblings and I will make up for all those lost years.”

 _Princess of Hoshido,_ she thought, the words ringing in her aching heart with the echoing _Kamui,_ but she couldn’t force a sound out of her mouth.

“You really don’t remember any of this?” Ryouma prodded. “Not a single thing?”

Corrin shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve only got a few vague images from before I came to the Northern Fortress, but…”

When she’d been five.

When Ryouma said she’d been kidnapped.

_But Xander and Camilla and Leo and Elise… they wouldn’t have… not for all these years… they would have told me…_

“Well, I can’t imagine the Nohrian royals would have shared much with you,” Ryouma said. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we need to head to Shirasagi. Mother will be…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m not entirely sure what Mother will do when she sees you. After all these years… Please, if you have any questions, ask me. I will answer anything you need.”

Corrin managed a nod, though her words stuck in her throat again as Ryouma stood and offered her a hand up.

She didn’t think he could answer any of the questions she had at that moment, anyway.

_They wouldn’t lie to me. Not for this long._

_Would they?_

~~~

**Bottomless Canyon, Nohr—June 10, 636**

Laslow wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up with only Odin and Selena at his side—royals and retainers had split, joined up, and split again, circling wider out from their battlegrounds until the distance they’d covered was conceivably too far for Corrin to have gotten.

He raised his valiantly spluttering lantern, his own shaking not helping the little flame in the slightest—he’d gone somewhere beyond ‘soaked’ in the past hour or so and was now venturing into the territory of being able to make an entirely new body of water out of what had seeped into his clothes—aching eyes still scanning for a shock of white hair or silken royal cloak. “Lady Corrin?” he called out again anyway, before wincing at the rasp in his throat and wondering if he’d end up sick by morning. Quite probably.

Finally, with an uncanny ache of regret in his tone, Odin said, “Niles and I shouldn’t have left her. I thought… She didn’t have far to go, I thought she’d be safe with Gunter.”

“She _should_ have been safe with Gunter,” Laslow pointed out, then added, “She probably still _is_ safe with Gunter, wherever they’ve gotten to.” He bit out a curse and blinked against the sudden dark as his lantern died with one last despondent pop. No way would he get a match to light in this storm. Scottie obligingly halted while Laslow tried to let his eyes adjust down. “He’s not stupid. They’re probably holed up somewhere out of this—gods dammit,” he said as a flash of lighting effectively erased any progress his night vision was making. “—storm. Was it this bad when we first showed up here?”

“No, not nearly,” Selena said with all the good grace of a drowned cat. “Different time of year, I guess.”

“Something like that,” Laslow muttered.

No one spoke again until they’d start to move on once more. Then, almost too softly to be heard over the storm, Selena said, “She might have fallen.”

“Don’t say that,” Laslow snapped with sudden vitriol. _Because if she fell, if she’s dead, then what’s the point of being here at all—_

“Eesh, leave my head on my neck, thanks,” Selena said. “I’m just saying that if we don’t find her soon we might have to start considering the possibility.”

“Maybe we should still hold off on such grave declarations for a while…” Odin murmured.

Laslow shortly halted Scottie again as they circled toward the Bottomless Canyon, forcing his chilled and stiffened legs to dismount. He still couldn’t see very well, especially not all the way across the gorge, but there was a familiar tingle at his feet that led him on. “Maybe she never made it back to Nohr,” he said. “They might have gotten caught out… It was quite the large force stationed there for what it was.”

“And?” Selena asked. “Laslow, if she’s still in Hoshido, we can’t exactly go waltzing over and ask— _what the ever-living hell are you doing, what if someone sees you?”_

Despite her rising tone, Laslow didn’t stop, letting the Dragon Vein rise up and over him, forcing the canyon edge to twist and ply to his will until the rocks had settled into a bridge.

No sooner had they stopped moving was there a clatter of hooves behind him, quickly followed by the swift smack of Selena’s hand and the back of his head.

 _“Are you out of your mind?”_ she demanded, swinging out of the saddle and her foot missing him by inches. “Or have you thought about using it for more than two seconds?”

“I _am_ using it!” he shot back. “Did you not hear what I just said? She could very well still be in Hoshido, especially considering we haven’t found her here yet, and if she is she’s getting farther away by the moment!”

“We cannot just up and leave and _waltz into Hoshido!”_ Selena snapped. “Are you mad? We’d get caught, for one, and for another can you _imagine_ what our lieges would do if we up and disappeared too—”

“We aren’t here for _them!”_ Laslow shouted. “We’re here for _her!_ We have always been here for _her!_ That is literally the reason we’re here, without her we’re as good as useless and if Lilith’s gone too then we are _stuck_ here! I thought you understood that, Selena! We’re here for a reason, that reason is Lady Corrin, and if that means I end up having to ditch Xander he can put on his big boy pants and get the _hell_ over himself!”

A long moment stretched out before Odin said softly, “Laslow… perhaps hold on a moment before you do anything rash…”

“How am I being _rash?”_ Laslow asked. “Would you two rather _sit_ here while she’s off gods-know-where?”

“That’s _not_ what we’re saying,” Selena said. “We’re just saying you have to stop and _think_ for a second.”

A disgusted sound rose in the back of Laslow’s throat as he threw his arms to the sides. “If she’s gone…” he said lowly.

Words from their patron god, so long ago now, rang in his head. _I cannot ask you to remain in a world that is beyond saving._

If they’d lost Corrin… If they’d lost Lilith…

Somewhere in the storm, lights began to glimmer from the west. Studlee let out a whinny and the lights quickly shifted toward them.

“Lady Gisela?” Odin called before Laslow got a proper look at the company.

“Odin?” Gisela returned, waving her half-a-dozen companions to a stop. “Laslow, Selena? The border patrol sent word to Tuefell about Lady Corrin,” she explained. “Any news yet?”

A beat passed. “No, nothing,” Selena said.

“Dammit,” Gisela said. “Listen, I’m sure you’ve been out here for a while. There’s an outpost about twenty minutes north of here that ought to be able to put you up for the night. We’re bringing in fresh eyes, so get some rest.”

“Yes, milady, thank you,” Selena answered, then didn’t speak again until Gisela and her men had made it out of sight. “You heard the woman. Come on, Laslow.”

Laslow cast one more glance into Hoshido, then sighed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah.”


End file.
